


Legacy

by Andravere



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Continuation, Canon typical warning apply, Fluff and Angst, Fumbling at politics, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Multiple, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andravere/pseuds/Andravere
Summary: Set shortly after Laurent’s Ascension, he and Damen now look to the future; uniting an empire, marriage, and raising an heir or two.In which I explore how, where, when, and why they go about obtaining children and what parenthood would be like for them.





	1. Dawning

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just wouldn’t stop growing!!! It’s completely gotten away from me and I’ve had a lot of fun wrangling it into something worth sharing. It’s been too long since I’ve shared my writing with anyone at all and I desperately need to get back into it. There is… a lot of content I plan to work into this sucker. Angst, fluff, sex, lots of things I wanted to see resolved in the series, so I'm taking this time to be entirely self indulgent. I don’t want to give any of my plans away, but the main point of all this is Laurent and Damen becoming parents. Gonna bring back lots of characters and make up a bunch of my own.

Laurent woke early. 

The cool morning breeze disturbed the curtains around the bed, golden grey light breaking through the slivered openings. Breathing deeply beside him, Damen’s chest rose and fell beneath the silk sheets, a soothing synchrony threatening to pull Laurent back under.

It was still a shock to realize Marlas already felt like home, very much the opposite of how Arles felt the last six years. This was how home should feel. Happiness. Comfort. 

He knew Damen expected to wake beside him, as there were no meetings or training, no obligations for the entire day, in fact. The first day since their retreat to the summer palace a few months ago. Damen believed it to be a lovely stroke of luck and Laurent would keep it that way… for a little while longer. Following Laurent’s Ascension, spare moments had not come readily and he couldn’t have Damen prematurely realizing how much effort went into ensuring they had this one day free from obligation. 

Laurent felt a little guilty about leaving his place in bed to cool. The simple pleasure of waking beside one another was something he well knew Damen treasured. To alleviate his absence, Laurent prepared a note which he deposited on the pillow where Damen would find it in his place. 

_Lover,_  
_If you wish to kiss me good morning, first you must find me._  
_I will spare you the riddle._  
_Come south to the ruins on the cliff._  
_L_

_____ _

Laurent ignored the impulse to brush aside Damen’s curly bangs and kiss his forehead. He would not risk waking him, or else they may never leave bed and Laurent had no room in his plan for losing courage. He would see this through. 

There was no worry, only anticipation. Wanting to get it right, because this was important to him. Damen was important to him. Logically, he knew there was zero possibility it could go wrong. With Damen, it was always right.

The peak of summer in Marlas was much warmer than Laurent was used to and he dressed for it, choosing white riding pants which fell just below the knee, calves exposed. Damen would like it. He laced himself into a frilly necked blouse, white and detailed in gold. His hair, longer now than it had been in several years, pulled tightly into a braid which began at the crown of his head and draped over one shoulder. He tied it with a blue ribbon. Completing the look with leather, Akielon style sandals. 

Before leaving for the stables, where everything he required would be packed and waiting for him, his horse prepared, Laurent collected two pouches from his desk. One a bit bigger and heavier than a sack of gold, the other small enough that he tied it securely inside his riding jacket where it would go unseen. 

With a final glance towards his handsome love, Laurent went. 

. . .

Damen woke, reaching for a warm body and instead finding a note. He smiled helplessly at the words. How like Laurent, to make him work for something as simple as a morning kiss. Prior experience told Damen there was more to it than that, excitement rolling him to his feet, he dressed quickly to find out what it was. 

Laurent often left him notes when he knew his absence would be missed. It was not as often that he left him instructions. When Laurent wanted something and he wanted it to go his way, he didn’t wait for it to happen. His careful planning and brilliant execution had been the cause of pain and humiliation for many. It was also the cause for victory, kindness, and clever games. Damen felt special to be able to witness it all. 

He knew when he found the right spot. The breeze picked up a bit so close to the shore, the expanse of the ocean glittering out in front of him. Damen could smell the salt in the air, a smell that would always remind him of Ios. It would mean a lot to him for the new palace to be built in a spot just like this, up high and with the water in full view. 

Ruins, pillars both tall and old, some standing straight while others lay vertical, rested on each other. Many were in crumbling pieces, disintegrating into the earth and overlaid with moss. From the shape and the size of the foundation it was clear to Damen that it was once a temple. He used to play around them as a child, though there weren’t as many the further north you went.

A small grove of trees had made its home right through the center. There, a horse grazed in the shade. A pale blonde beauty, almost white, shiny like velvet in late morning sun, the very horse Damen had gifted Laurent.

Damen dismounted and gave the mare a rub under her chin. “I’m sure even if you could talk, you wouldn’t spill what he’s up to, would you?” The horse showed her teeth as if mocking him.

Damen scanned the surroundings trying to pick up on sounds or shadows that might reveal where Laurent was baiting him from. There was a blanket smoothed over the grass at the base of a nearby tree, basket, presumably full of food, poised on the edge, keeping it from blowing away in the breeze, along with a tumble of jewel toned pillows. 

“Perhaps I will help myself to breakfast,” said so his voice carried. 

On cue Damen was pelted straight in the temple. 

He looked to where he thought it came from, behind a tree perhaps, only to be pelted again. Damen picked it off the ground. A nut.

There was a breathy, helpless laugh, Damen spun, finding Laurent slung atop a branch above him.

The clean white of his clothes and golden hair contrasted the earthy greens and browns of the grove. Damen smiled warmly at the sight of him. His one leg bent, wrist delicately balanced against his knee, the other leg straightened as if he were lounging comfortably as he would a chaise. 

“Found you.” Damen beamed. 

“Right where I said I’d be.” The corner of Laurent’s precious mouth turned up. “Help me down.” 

Damen had no trouble reaching into the tree, grasping Laurent’s waist and pulling him down into his arms. Laurent held onto his shoulders and Damen started kissing him the moment he could reach skin, claiming his reward for finding him. Slowly sliding Laurent to eye level, he laid his lips on his neck, underneath the jaw, the tip of his nose, the center of his brow, and finally the crown of his head once he placed him back on his feet.

“You’re too much, you know that.” Laurent leaned heavily into his chest. 

“Says the king who was perched in a tree.”

Laurent smiled, sunlight dim in comparison. “I’ve not done that since I was a boy, it was Auguste who taught me how. I’d have had you join me, but I’d feel sorry for the tree.” 

Damen laughed. “We’ll have to come see them when they blossom. I believe in early spring.”

Laurent nodded and Damen saw how his gaze fixated on his mouth. Damen lifted his chin and kissed him, soft at first, then deeply, as he would have in bed.

“Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Laurent said back, eyes fluttering open. He bit his plush lower lip which just made Damen want to kiss him again, harder this time, pushing him back against the rough bark of the tree, have the passionate morning he anticipated. 

But then Laurent was pulling him by the hand, walking backwards to the blanket he'd laid out. Damen went like a puppy on a leash.

Laurent sat squarely on an overstuffed pillow, legs folded to the side like he made a habit of sitting on the ground. Damen joined him, tugging his own cushion as close as he could get. Laurent rolled his eyes, sliding a hand over his thigh, just below the edge of his chiton. 

“Hungry?” Laurent asked.

Sitting like this, their height difference was apparent. Damen looked down at Laurent, their thighs pressed together. The gentle breeze disturbed the loose strands of hair framing his sharply elegant features. The sun left a bit of color on the high rise of his cheeks. Eyes, blue in a way the sky could never compare to, looked up at him and Damen almost forgot he was asked a question.

“Famished,” Damen said.

Laurent turned to pull food from the basket. An array of cheese, bread, sweetmeats, a few oranges and a sprig of grapes. Carefully, he unstoppered a bottle and poured them each a shallow glass of wine, surprised that Laurent planned to drink too. 

Laurent raised his cup and they clinked them together ceremoniously. It gave Damen the odd sense he was missing something important, but then Laurent was poising a grape to his lips and he was lost, accepting the fruit easily. 

“Can I?” Damen asked, lifting a sweetmeat. 

Laurent nodded, mouth falling open easily. Damen couldn’t look away from that mouth, couldn’t help but think about how Laurent had planned all of this. He felt charmed. 

Lifted the bite, he fed it to Laurent chastely, without brushing any part of him.

Before he could pull his hand back, Laurent grabbed his wrist and kissed the pad of his fingers, tongue darting out to lick away excess. “Feeling reserved?” 

“Almost never,” Damen assured him. “We aren’t out here to make love in the grass, as favorable as it sounds.” 

“And what makes you think that?” 

“If that’s what you wanted, we’d still be in bed.”

Laurent gazed in his eyes, looking torn on some account. He brought another morsel to Damen’s lips. 

“I find myself on the outside of one of your plans,” Damen said, after he chewed.

“Yes.” Damen opened his mouth to question what it was, but Laurent promised, “All in good time.”

Damen nodded and plucked a grape from the vine, pressing it to his own lips. He cupped Laurent at the nape of his neck and brought their lips together. 

Laurent opened his mouth for it. Damen broke the skin with his teeth, in a burst of juice, he pushed the fruit into Laurent’s mouth.

They continued to feed each other, kissing between just about every bite, lips and fingers sticky with juice, until the food was gone and Laurent was in his lap. Judging by the pleasant buzz, their goblets were emptied more than once as well. 

Laurent eventually moved away and laid back on the cushions, looking soft and untouchable as the clouds in the sky. The sun reflected off his white clothes and golden hair, brightening him even further from his natural incandescence. Damen leaned over him, nuzzling into his neck and kissing him softly where he could feel the quick beat of his pulse. Laurent lifted his chin to give him more room, hands going to Damen’s hair, holding him there. It was lovely and private, no guards outside the door, no men training a few yards away, or nosey courtiers. All Damen could hear was the wind and Laurent’s sighs and hums as Damen trailed his hands down, drifting along Laurent’s sides and across his waist, hitching one leg up, and taking his lips again. 

He made no further advances, knowing if Laurent wanted, it would happen.

After a time, maybe a millennia later, Laurent gently pushed on his chest. Damen rolled on his back, catching his breath, watching the leaves rustle against the clear sky. 

Laurent shifted onto his side, hand smoothing over Damen’s chest, beginning to trace a mindless pattern with his finger. 

“If you had to guess, what god do you think housed this temple?” 

Damen thought that if Laurent had something to say, he could and would wait for it. Even if it was at the end of a conversation of misdirection, he’d wait until Laurent was good and ready to share. 

“Many of the ruins around Ios are said to be for the god of sun and war. That’s who the Artesians favored,” Damen said. Akielons didn’t worship or even study the gods of Artes, but he knew some things from reading ancient texts. 

“Is that your guess?”

“I suppose. Do you know the answer?”

“Of course. Interestingly, those who long ago derived from this particular area admired the sea god most of all. More than war or wealth, they were reverent of the water and worshipped anything borne from it.”

“Many in Ios and Isthima feel the same.” Damen wondered aloud when Laurent had done this research. Had he always known, or was it a recent study? 

“I’ll admit, I’m not as well read on the gods of myth as I would like. Or much of the history before Vere and Akielos existed, for that matter. It’s something I’ve only recently discovered interest in. I haven’t truly… indulged in reading in a long time.” 

He brought the hand on his chest to his lips. “We’ll build libraries, as many as would make you happy.” 

Laurent gave an amused smile. “I think one would suffice. A big one, granted.” He cleared his throat. “I was saying, this temple is the largest north of Sicyon, and it wasn’t meant for the sea god, but a goddess. Myth says she was born from sea foam and the castrated genitals of her father, crudely enough. He was the king of gods, making her a princess in her own right. She’s described as blonde and fair, blue eyed. A deity of love and beauty.”

“I’d worship her,” Damen said. 

Which Laurent ignored. He was gazing at the sky and Damen noticed there was a tension in him that wasn’t there a moment ago. “The Veretian way has always been to worship one god, or none. I always fell under the latter. I learned to think that you can’t depend on others to save you, whether they be alive, dead, or omnipotent. 

“For six years, Marlas was a memory soaked in blood. After Auguste died, there was no more dreaming of a future where he would conquer Akielos and restore the old empire. Of course, killing Akielons remained part of my plan.” Laurent still looked skyward, eyes sharp and focused, but not cold. “Granted, I had never hoped to survive myself.” 

Damen laced their fingers, cradling their hands near his heart. 

“If Auguste himself came back from the dead and told me the old empire would be restored in my own name, and with the prince killer, no less, I would have sent him back to his grave for being an imposter.” Despite everything, Laurent huffed a laugh. 

Laurent paused to redirect his thoughts, when he finally gazed back into Damen’s eyes he spoke softly, looking somewhat excited. “I rather like the idea that Marlas was once a place that worshipped love above all else.”

Damen sat up, Laurent with him, clasping his one hand with both of his. “It can be that way again. We fought together and won, with love and honor.”

“Not to mention a good deal of luck and strategy.” Laurent stretched a bit to kiss his jaw. “I had to reconcile that Marlas was part of my future and not just a haunting part of my past. It’s a good place for us to grow.” 

Damen felt there was still more unsaid, he waited for Laurent to elaborate. 

Laurent, with his free hand, brushed his fingers over Damen’s cuffed wrist. “I couldn’t help but be aware, of all the people in Vere and Akielos, the only ones to remain in slave cuffs are the kings.”

Damen gave him a questioning look. 

Laurent took a breath and held it. “Besides the point that they’re gaudy hunks of metal and hinder with the laced clothing I prefer, we’ve outgrown them. I’d like to cast them away and join our people.”

Laurent pulled back to reach inside the seemingly endless basket of goods. He withdrew a pouch, pulling at the strings to reveal what Damen had been in close contact with once before, never thinking he’d see them in the hands of Laurent. 

“I borrowed them,” Laurent said about the iron tools. 

“You’ve been to see the blacksmith?” 

“I required his services.” Laurent glanced away for a breath. “It took some haggling to have him agree to me borrowing them.” The tools were like the ones that had been used to pry off the gold collar and single cuff at Ravenel. 

Damen was caught off guard, had been consistently since he woke up this morning. But he long ago learned to trust Laurent to carry them forward, as Laurent learned to trust Damen to let him help.

“Kastor was the one who put this on you, I wish to see it removed. I had wished to see it removed the day we agreed on and yet it stayed, the matching one ending up on my wrist.” Laurent tried to act put out about it. 

“Are you sure? To many this is symbol of our equality, it could mean--”

“Trust me.”

Damen nodded. That was easy. He offered Laurent his wrist, though unassured Laurent knew how to use the borrowed tools.

Even so, with careful, steady hands, Laurent cracked and pried open the gold wrist-cuff. Damen flexed his forearm, relishing the sensation. 

Laurent ran a thumb over the freshly exposed skin. Bending forward, he kissed the inside of his wrist.

Laurent offered the tools to Damen. “Now me.”

Damen took them, freeing Laurent in return. The broken open pieces of metal lay off to the side, no longer a part of them.  
He set the tools down and Damen realized again, there was more. 

“In an effort to stake personal claim on you, I-” Laurent paused. Damen saw that he was trying to organize his words. 

“And here I thought I was already claimed.”

“Hush. I have something to give you.”

“A horse?” 

Laurent gave him a withering look, one that was not at all menacing to Damen, who laughed happily. He couldn’t help it. Laurent was giving him a gift. 

Laurent continued. “You seem to enjoy gifting me with anything that you think would suit me, I find that sort of task difficult. Giving, even receiving, I’m unused to finding genuinity in those actions.” Tension rolled down him. “I hoped to find a symbol that better suited us, better than the cuffs, less about ownership and more about partnership… We’ve already spoken about wedding, but I thought, well, just give me your hand or else I’ll keep going on without getting to the point.” 

Damen extended his hand to Laurent, the same one which just adorned the cuff. Damen was watching Laurent’s eyes the whole time and it wasn’t until the ring slid perfectly into place that Damen looked down and understood what was happening. 

“I find this to be much more appropriate.” 

Damen was speechless. 

“Wear it for me, Damianos.” His words mirroring Damen’s when he had gifted him the wrist-cuff on the dais. “Wear it always, stay by my side always.”

Damen sputtered, “I-- Laurent, yes.”

Pleased, Laurent flipped his palm up and placed in it an identical ring, golden yellow and shining in the sunlight.

Damen, wide eyed and utterly surprised, “You planned all this, you-” 

“Who else.”

“But-- you don’t wear jewelry.”

Laurent laughed. “You’re processing this a lot slower than I imagined.”

Damen stared at the rings. Then stared at Laurent. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Damen, I commissioned them myself. I’m certain.”

He couldn’t believe this was happening. He could because meticulous, private planning epitomized Laurent, but he hadn’t seen the signs of it at all. Damen tried to think back if there were any clues. He remembered one night Laurent had gone and returned to bed in the late hours. When he had come back Damen was awake and only looked at him in question, trying not to pry. 

“I only went to meet with my secret lover you needn’t worry.”

“Laurent.” He had pulled the blonde close to his chest, as he slipped under the covers. “Are you unable to sleep? If something is bothering you…” 

“It’s nothing. I only went to finish my book at the library, I left it at a good part. I didn't want the light to disturb you.”

“Next time stay. I don't mind.”

“Yes, sweetheart.” Laurent had pressed a kiss under his jaw where he was tucked against him. “Go back to sleep.” And he had. In the morning he noticed his signet ring was left on the nightstand, out of place, but thought nothing of it. 

“Laurent.” Damen gripped his hands, wracked with adoration. “Laurent, after we took Ravenel, when you let me go after our first night together, it occurred to me I wasn’t the same prince I was before. Prince Damianos of the past was content with the way things were. He never would have helped Vere, never would have shed blood for them. I never would have known you for who you are. 

“I felt immense shame and confusion about my past. I couldn’t reconcile who I once was and who I was becoming. I kept the cuff on as a way to hold on to the new understanding myself. To hold on to you. I knew what we had shared was a lie, to ourselves and each other and yet, all that I felt for you was true and I never wanted to let go. 

“I wasn’t wrong, I knew you would treat my heart tenderly, it is in your nature.” He pushed the ring on Laurent’s slender finger. “I love you endlessly, Laurent. Whatever comes our way, we will weather it together. I’m incredibly proud to rule beside you, and honored to be your lover.”

Laurent never took his eyes from Damen’s as they became a bit glassy, his lovely features soft. “Satisfactory.” His voice quiet, raw. “Since you didn’t have time to rehearse.” 

“You rehearsed?” Damen was smitten, pulling Laurent closer to him. 

Laurent flushed. “You make love with your words. I babble.” 

“Laurent, that sweet, appalling mouth of yours is my favorite thing about you. I am hopelessly, eternally entranced.”  
“Oh? Your favorite thing? Here I thought it was other parts of me you preferred.”

“I love all of you, every hair on your head to the hair on your toes.”

“Damianos.” He feigned scandalization. 

“It is true.” He laughed.

Fingers weaving into his curls, pressing in close, Laurent asked, “Do you know what I like best about you?” 

“Everything?” Damen guessed. 

“Certainly not your modesty. Perhaps I will keep it to myself.”

“You can not. Tell me.” 

“And it’s not how you persuade.” Laurent sat up on his knees, sliding one between Damen’s thighs, looking down on him. His fingers tightened in his hair, tilting Damen’s head back, holding him where he wanted. Damen wrapped his hands fully around his waist, pulling them chest to chest. 

“Laurent,” Damen groaned his name.

“Ah. That might be it.” Laurent used a thumb to stroke his cheek, eyeing his mouth.

“You torture me.” 

“I’m simply playing.” 

“Somehow your games always leave me breathless.”

Laurent seemed immensely pleased, gaze fixed heavily on him. 

A moment passed, warmth pulsing through Damen, then he spoke. “I love how you are… big, everywhere.” Laurent shushed him with a finger, keeping Damen from saying the crude thing he correctly anticipated he would say. “I love your height, I love the weight of you pressed against me, I love your monstrous arms, and your hands. I love your hands really, maybe too much… I love the thick curls on your head and the fullness of your mouth...”

Damen was now underneath Laurent, pressed back into the pillows. Yellow hair spilled over one of his shoulders, loosened from the braid. Damen took a hand from his waist and tucked it behind one ear, considering making love to him right here under the midday sun. “What I really fell for was your heart. I’ve found it to be so big there’s enough room to love your country and my own. Your heart is so incredibly honest and trusting, it overwhelms me. I would never dream about treating it anything less than precious.” 

“Laurent,” he breathed. It was true that his heart felt too big for his chest. 

“I do,” Laurent spoke softly now, looking down at his lips again, slowly closing the space between them, “also love the way you say my name.”

All restraint gone, Damen lifted his head and kissed him fully with the passion that coursed through him. Laurent dominated the kiss, tongue running along inside his mouth, pushing in deep. Damen gave into him, pulling him closer, palming over the gentle rise of his behind, the back of his thighs… 

They kissed until Laurent needed to catch his breath against Damen’s neck, where he pressed his lips, over and over. Damen smoothed his hands up and down his back, wanting to tug his perfectly tucked blouse from his pants and lay his lips on every part of him. But he would wait until they were back in bed for that. Instead he focused on Laurent’s hair. Undoing the loosened braid and trying to fix it with fumbling fingers. It was more challenging than the laces. 

Eventually, Laurent sat up and got the two of them to their feet. Feeling the back of his hair he said, “Abysmal.”

“You should let me practice.”

“For what purpose. Plan on growing your own hair?” After he said it, his head tilted as if he might like the idea. 

“I could.” Damen smiled. “I just like playing with your hair.” In the sun it shone like spun gold as it slipped between his fingers. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Laurent and Damen repacked the horses, the sun working on its descent.

Mounting his horse Laurent spoke. “I was thinking we’d do the wedding in two months, preparations can be made while we're away from Marlas, so we can be wed right when we get back. We only need to invite the court and council, and whatever lords and kyroi can make it. Afterward, the alliance will be more than secure.” He said it like marking checks on a list.

Damen couldn’t disagree, but it made him frown. Deeply.

Laurent noticed him thinking. “Damen?”

“In Akielon tradition, the king’s wedding has been known to last at least a summer.” 

Laurent’s eyes widened as if daunted. “The entire season? What do you do the whole time?” 

Damen shrugged. “Lots of sport and games. Hunts. Drinking and fucking. People bring you gifts and you open them together. The ceremony itself of course, that’s been known to last several days on its own.”

“You’re joking.”

Damen shook his head. “The last wedding I attended was as a child, and it was no where near what I’ve heard of past weddings. It was said, first King Agathon kept the celebration going an entire year.” 

Laurent pondered this. “As… enthralling as that sounds. It isn’t possible. We’re already well into summer and time is indispensable.”

“There’s always next year.”

“The sooner the better.” Laurent quipped.

Damen went quiet. He didn’t want to fight. 

Laurent sighed. “I honestly thought you would want to be married as soon as possible.”

“I do, I--” Damen knew he was being contradictory, but he was confused. “I want to be married to you this very moment, but I also don’t want to rush it. I want it to be personal and intimate, not thrown together because it would be politically beneficial. I want to savor every moment with you.”

Laurent looked at him thoughtfully, but didn’t respond. They rode the rest of the way back to their makeshift palace in silence. Not an uncomfortable one, he could tell Laurent was thinking and he allowed him the silence to do it in. 

Damen would be stubborn about this and he didn’t expect anything less from Laurent. 

Once the horses were back in the stable and he had taken Laurent’s hand to return to their rooms, Laurent spoke. “You’re a romantic, Damen, which I still manage to underestimate. Marriage is not something I ever pictured having, let alone wanting. I am often out of my element with you. It still surprises me what I’ve come to desire.” Laurent paused again for a long moment and Damen waited. “We’ll do the wedding your way, Damen.”

He couldn’t help his excited grin, nor the twinge of guilt. “I don’t want to force your hand.”

“You couldn’t. It’s not an unpleasant idea, after all.” Laurent looked at him with all the warmth of the day they’ve had, which Damen felt all the way to his toes. 

Damen wrapped his arms around Laurent and kissed the top of his head. “Can we go back to bed now?” 

“You brute.” Laurent pushed away, laughing. Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he took a few steps backwards. “Think you can beat me there?” 

Before Damen could answer, Laurent took off running. 

Damen, beaming, watched him disappear around a corner before darting after him.

. . .

The next day they were back to work. Preparations were ongoing for the kings’ extended trip from Marlas. As Laurent traveled Vere it would be an opportune time to announce his official engagement to the country, before that, there were the members of the reformed and expanding council to inform.

He found his attention unfocused during the meeting. Wording and rewording how he would tell everyone that the wrist-cuffs were gone and a royal wedding would be coming. It was expected of them to get married, but he wasn’t sure how they, specifically the Akielons, would react to the removal of the cuffs. 

Damen’s enslavement to Vere was the ultimate dishonor to Akielos, word spread all over the kingdom and it put Laurent and Vere further in the shadows of distrust. He’d heard the rumors and claims, some spoken plainly to his face, others overheard while in disguise. For Damen to renounce and disband slaves was an outrage to the general public, they couldn’t understand his attachment to the King of Vere. It seemed to them that Laurent was the puppeteer, and Akielon integrity hung by a thread. 

Veretians felt similarly. While the commoners loved him, many had been conditioned not to trust Laurent. It didn’t help that they felt their refined and civilized lifestyle was threatened. News of engagement was not likely to placate, only fuel the rumors that he was drunk on his first taste of cock. 

The time he and Damen would be separated was not something Laurent looked forward to. They'd done it before, but not as long as two months. He chose to savor the feel of Damen’s hand on his thigh and the sound of his deep, warm voice, instead of how currency should be handled, which Chelaut droned on about for most the afternoon. 

Damen insisted on waiting for the marriage ceremony, so Laurent began to plan it. Who would be invited, the flowers, the clothes, music, and cuisine. He imagined an elegant blend of Veretian and Akielon customs. Maybe the new palace would be completed by then. It would be a political affair, but more importantly, a celebration of their love and dedication to each other.

There was a part of him that preferred to hold it all close, well accustomed to keeping his feelings private. Contrarily, the idea of declaring undying devotion in front of court and kingdom was wildly, and unexpectedly, pleasing. 

The meeting was reaching its end and the moment he would make the announcement. Chelaut concluded the moment Vannes narrowed her eyes at their wrists, and Laurent saw his prepared words become moot. 

“The slave cuffs.” She said nothing else to indicate what she meant, drawing the attention of the room. 

It was a relatively small gathering, only the remaining council members Laurent hadn’t dismissed, Herode and Chelaut, and newly appointed Vannes. There was also Nikandros, Kyros of Delpha, and Meniados of Sicyon. Part of the cause for their trip was to fill out the council, ideally equal parts Veretian and Akielon. 

“Words, Vannes.” Laurent said sharply. 

“They’re... gone.” As if she didn’t believe her own eyes. 

“Observant of you.”

Laurent felt Damen’s hand fold over his where it rested in his lap. “We were about to announce. His majesty, King Laurent and I will be getting married.” He said it with such pride and affection, holding up their joined hands, showing off the twin golden bands. Laurent kept his gaze fixed cooly as congratulations were made.

Laurent found himself annoyed. “As Vannes helpfully pointed out, the cuffs are gone. For all intents and purposes, a trade. One form of enslavement for another.” 

Damen laughed as the room balked. Herode visibly recoiled. 

Damen covered his blunt assessment. “The rings symbolize the vow we have to each other and the alliance. We hope everyone will share in our profound happiness.”

“We can expect it before the end of the year, I hope. It’s a good way to show bordering nations we aren’t weakened by internal changes,” said Meniados. 

“We’ve made the personal decision to hold off on a ceremony until further notice,” Damen said. 

“Exalted, if I may, the cuffs were a political display of equivalent ownership. I’m not sure…” Meniados began. 

Nikandros had warned them beforehand of this sort of response. Still he said, “Our Kings know best what they symbolized. Damianos has forgiven Vere, do you dishonor his decision?” 

“It is Akielos too, that needs to be forgiven, mind you,” Herode interjected.

“What matters now is a union of men and kingdom. If we continue to focus on the past, progress will always be stifled,” said Nikandros. 

Vannes piped up. “Hopefully news of engagement will be enough to quiet the naysayers in court. Anyone who has seen the kings together would understand that there is a shocking… equality between them.”

“Rings are certainly less flagrant,” Chelaut amended.

The tension in the room released slightly, as if in agreement. 

“I’d like to hear the story,” Vannes said dreamily. “Were you terribly surprised?” The question was directed at Laurent. 

“I’ve never been more surprised in my life,” Damen answered easily, which eased Laurent’s irritation. Vannes looked about ready to burst with questions. 

Nikandros cleared his throat. “Weren’t we in the middle of a council meeting?”

He and Damen had spoken to Nikandros about their intentions the night before. Really, he noticed the moment he walked in to share dinner with them, the aura in the room ‘cloyingly sweet’, as he put it. He left shortly after. Despite his initial and continued exasperation, he was truly happy for them both. 

“Yes, Nikandros, we were.” Laurent said firmly. The attention of the room was again caught. “As you all know, Marlas will be empty of kings for the next two months. On our return there will be changes to the infrastructure. The council is a wholly Veretian concept and we are no longer only Vere. Moving forward, balance will be key. I trust Damianos to choose advisors that will benefit us and in turn he trusts me. It will demonstrate that each of us are independent forces that work well together and separately. We put our trust in the council to hold Marlas in our stead.” 

Before Laurent could lift a hand to dismiss them, Herode spoke. “You highness, in my many years serving kings I’ve seen just as many weddings. I assume we can expect the traditional public consummation? Hm? You can’t wait forever to have an heir.”

“Public consummation?” Nikandros sounded, like Damen was, horrified. 

“Yes,” said Herode. “Traditionally the council witnesses the consummation to ensure the royal bloodline is free from bastardry.” 

“Do you make a habit out of not trusting your kings in Vere?” Nikandros said, clearly insulted. 

“It’s not about trust. It’s about maintaining a pure lineage. We avoid taint in Vere.”

Laurent felt a nerve pluck. “I think any sensible man can agree there is no fear of that in this marriage.”

“Yes. Now that the matter has been brought up,” as if Herode himself wasn’t the one to bring it up, “I’ve been quite curious about how your highnesses think to resolve the matter of an heir.”

Herode was as pushy and traditional as Laurent remembered. Yet, he kept him close by because his fixed ideals were important in blending the cultures, not to mention he remained the most loyal to Laurent and his family. One of the last pieces to a long scattered puzzle.

The minor setback for Herode being, Laurent’s family will never exist again like it once did. The future he saw when Aleron held the throne, is not the future that now exists. Not even close. 

“This isn’t the first time Vere or Akielos has seen two queens or two kings.” 

“Yes, in those instances a cousin, a niece or nephew, was named heir apparent.” 

“There is scant of the royal bloodline left from Vere or Akielos.” It was painfully noted.

“This may not be the first time our histories have seen a same sex sovereignty, but it is the first time it’s the cause of a great unification.” 

Thoughtful hums erupted in the room. 

“Two heirs? A Veretian one and an Akielon one. Only fair,” someone proposed. Laurent listened, chin rested on the back of his hand, letting it all get on the table. 

“Who do you decide Ascends?” 

“It would only make sense to matchmake a Veretian and Akielon, then the child would be mix.”

“That could never do. Both kingdoms they might be in blood, but royalty they wouldn’t.” 

“Damianos Exalted is known to have at least one bastard,” someone bravely observed. 

“Then what about Laurent? He must also pass on the Veretian bloodline. We agreed on a balanced unification.” Herode banged his withering fist against the table. 

Laurent felt a pressure in his head close to bursting. He used every ounce of his magnificent restraint to hold back the things his tongue wanted to say. As a prince, Laurent’s private life was often made public. The matter of his children, certainly, was of public concern. It was also true that he and Damen would one day need an heir. 

No matter how much Herode wanted, Laurent could not give him what he demanded. The grip tightened around his hand and Laurent realized Damen was also affected. His brows furrowed, which were usually at perfect ease, jaw set. Children wasn’t something they’d yet discussed, it was happening here for the first time, as you would talk about breeding the perfect prize pony. 

Damen quieted the room when he stood.

“We’ve heard your consideration, when Laurent and I decide to move forward on the matter you will be informed. Be dismissed.” 

Damen waited for Laurent to stand and lead their way out of the room and into the blessedly quiet corridor. 

They didn’t speak as they walked. 

In less than a day they were leaving, children was not something he had the time or energy to think about. Though his mind stored it, because it was a problem that would not go away or get better with time. He and Damen could not conceive and Laurent, at least, was not in favor of many solutions proposed. 

He would come up with something. He just needed to think. 

They kept on walking until they reached the open air of the battlements. 

Damen spoke. “Upset Vannes ruined the revelation, were you?”

Laurent sighed. “She’s always been astute for gossip.” Laurent looked up at him. “You held your temper no better.”

Damen stopped walking and looked at him, knowing it was a question as much as a statement. The crease between his brow returned. “Herode implied to control who you were to share your seed with.” 

Laurent brow rose. “Feeling possessive?”

“I’m not possessive.” 

Laurent could think of many moments to prove otherwise. He took a step forward, smirking wickedly, giving his best bedroom voice, breathy and raw, an excellent mockery. “Mine, mine, Laurent, you’re all mine…”

“That isn’t--” Damen flushed hard. 

“I’m only repeating your words. Am I not yours then?” Laurent teased, but Damen remained deadly serious. 

“Laurent, you are mine while you want me. If you want someone else, I will never stop you from pursuing it. I, and Herode especially, have no power in who you make love to.”

Laurent took Damen’s jaw in his hand, pulling them close. There was no limit to his beauty, or the effect it had on Laurent, it struck Laurent through the chest, just as his words did. “I’d say you have some influence,” he said. Arms wound around Laurent's waist, his thumb soothing along the edge of Damen’s jaw. “Damen, you are devastatingly honorable. Haven't I made it clear? I have no interest in fucking women, or anyone beside you. Not even to appease Veretian pride.” 

Damen radiated relief and Laurent softly pressed their lips together, pleased that Damen wanted to protect his interest, or lack thereof. 

“Just to be clear,” Laurent said against his lips, “I have no intention to share you with anyone else. And I am being possessive.” 

Damen groaned, pulling him closer. “I can’t believe I have to leave you tomorrow. Come with me to Akielos. Then we will go to the northern forts.”

“It will take twice as long. We can’t afford the time.” 

“So you’ve said.” 

“So you’ve agreed.” 

Damen huffed. “It doesn’t change the fact that I will miss you.”

Laurent kissed him again. “I will miss you too, my love.”

~


	2. Heart and Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to imagine with me the size difference between Laurent and Damen’s wedding bands /deep sigh. I love Damen’s hands. 
> 
> It might take… a bit… for babies to come into the actual picture. Not gonna say which chapter, but soon! Half the fun is getting there ;) 
> 
> In case it wasn't obvious, I am my own beta.. cheers

Laurent traveled through the country of Vere on horseback with a portion of his guard. They started with Alier, arriving with banners of royal gold to the the cheers and cries of the townspeople. He officially met his homeland as their King. 

The last time Laurent had traveled the expanse of Vere was as a child, led around by Auguste’s hand. Literally, since Laurent insisted they hold hands whenever feasible. Auguste had been bursting the excitement to go out on a long trip and learn first hand the workings of each region. 

Memories came back to him like long forgotten dreams. Auguste’s voice retelling histories of the land, places where valiant battles were fought, and how he saw the future of Vere. Laurent imagined he was here now, riding beside him, telling stories that would have the guard falling off their horses in hilarity. 

Everyone had loved Auguste, and Auguste loved his people. It had burned little Laurent to have his older brother’s attention garnered away from him, knowing even then that it was childish. It only made sense everyone would see how marvelous his big brother was. They were fools if they didn’t. 

Wherever Laurent went, his golden trademark exposed him, and the people looked at him with the devotion he had seen them give Auguste. It made Laurent want to look over his shoulder, but he knew Auguste was not there. His absence would always ache, but as looked out at their faces, Laurent finally felt worthy of the loyalty Auguste cultivated. 

He and his brother had always shared a room when they travelled, because Laurent would ask and Auguste never said no. Now, Laurent stayed in the same rooms alone. Auguste was not there to sift through the politics and diplomacy, while little brother lounged in the chaise and read book after book. 

The hesitancy of nobility concerning the alliance was palpable. Many wanted to be assured that the barbarics of Akielos wouldn’t be forced upon Vere. Prejudice was a hard thing to overcome, Laurent would know, but it could be done.

Regardless, each lord that held a fort in his borders came to him on their knees, officially pledging allegiance and armies to the crown. Their faces twisted in barely constrained disgust at the news of his engagement to the King of Akielos, he saw that many hoped that Laurent returning to Vere alone meant he had let go of the alliance. 

Laurent observed the interworking of his forts and armies with a careful and trained eye. He saw where they were lacking and gave commands for improvements. Occasionally he discovered soldiers who impressed him, offering them a place in the Guard. Namely, a woman named Simone, who Laurent thought should have been serving in Arles for the last decade. Of course, tradition prevented this, as royalty could not be left with any women unchaperoned.

It was clear she was underutilized even here in Varrene. It was a border province protected by the mountains and northern forests. From what Laurent could tell, Simone easily could have led the fort herself, she instead was a mid-ranking soldier with nonsense duties. Many men didn’t want to have close relations with her in fear of being discharged. Laurent spotted her doing swords training alone and offered her a place among his men. He felt sure that Simone could defend herself from lecherous men, being quite skilled with her words, not to mention her sword. 

By the time Laurent made he leave of each fort, they were both flustered and in awe of how how he improved functionality and moral. 

In Toutaine, he met Rouvin, second child to Lord Balin. He, with his father and sister, were able to maintain neutrality during the Regency. Laurent found that he got along very well, as he was a loyal and reasonable man, his province remarkably prosperous in agriculture. Most remarkably he was personally responsible for forming peaceful relations with the Vaskian tribes in the province.

Rouvin accepted Laurent’s offer to serve as a member on the new council in Marlas, on his knees and nearly in tears at the honor. 

The distance between he and Damen was cushioned by a steady stream of letter. At least twice a day heralds came and went to deliver said letters. Laurent had demanded Damen kept him up to date on everything he was doing, and Laurent made sure to do the same. 

Apart in distance, they were together through their actions, slowly but surely merging two kingdoms into one. 

Shortly into their travel, Damen found an architect in Karthas, who studied masonry and building all his life and believed he could recreate ancient techniques that were lost during the fall of the empire. It was one of their many goals, to each find an architect. 

They had a plan to commission the two architects to build a new palace on the coast of Marlas to represent the blending of Akielos and Vere. Laurent was rather interested in giving his own input, not to mention mediate, when things got inevitably hostile. It would take several years to complete, but one day it would mark the new capital of the wedded kingdoms. 

Beside that, Damen informed him that he offered three positions so far. One being a young man named Paxon, who would take over as ambassador to Patras. Damen had wanted the previous ambassador to return, but he grew weary and ill after Theomedes died and suggested that his son take his place. While young, he is familiar with Patras and grew up studying his father. 

Damen also sought out Silvos from Thrace and Demetria from Kesus. Two people who he had in mind for his advisors since before his father passed. Laurent suggested to him Artemisia from Aegina. Laurent met her as a cloth merchant and hadn’t forgotten the impression she left. 

The letters from Damen weren’t always strictly business. He had a poetic tendency when he yearned, one that left Laurent smiling behind his hand in the dim candlelight. 

Halfway through the trip marked the inevitable return to Belloy, and thus Arles. Court had already moved to Marlas and a lord appointed to run the palace as a fully functioning fort. It would not be the house of royals any longer, at least not for longer than a season. 

There were a few things he planned to have brought back with him to Marlas. Favored staff members, a vast collection of literature, the portraits of his family, and some personal keepsakes from his own chambers. 

Laurent stayed for one night in the rooms that had always been his. He felt somehow displaced, and it was all he could stomach, despite the everything being overrun in blue and gold instead of regency red. 

He was tense, that much was the same. The muscles in his chest wound up as tight as possible as if it would protect him as he walked through the halls, boots clacking against tile, and it stayed like that, just on the edge of overwhelming. 

Outwardly, Laurent remained straight backed and controlled despite wanting to curl around the tension. The threats were gone, he was safe, he had won, he told himself like a mantra. 

Prince Laurent was not a visionary like his brother had been, he couldn’t even fathom a future that existed past playing his uncle’s game. Surviving wasn’t the aim. Coming of age, the day he was destined to be free, he could only see as the final play in a game he was outmatched for.

When Nicaise first came to the palace, beautiful sneer and sparkling eyes, it was like all the other pets his uncle kept. Laurent had kept his distance, unable to stop what was happening and had happened countless times.

Over time, Nicaise taunted Laurent into paying attention to him, it wasn’t on purpose, but he turned out to be different, in that Laurent couldn’t keep away. The more the boy snarled at him, the more he pushed at Laurent’s buttons, and tried to play his grown-up games, the more he grew fond of the sapphire eyed boy. 

Foolishly, he had thought he could help him. Not then, when they were both still puppets on his uncle’s string, but after. When his uncle had discarded Nicaise, like he had all the others, Laurent would take him into his household, and they could be like -- 

When Laurent left Arles the very last time, he had made a promise to Nicaise. A promise he had meant to keep, it was only thing that burned brightly enough anymore to make him think he could win against his uncle.

_I'm coming back._

_I'm coming back._

His own voice haunted him. The last promise he had left behind, which Nicaise had appropriately thrown back in his face. 

Laurent was back now and it didn’t matter. 

Laurent wanted to believe that any moment he would spot the blossoming young boy from the corner of his eye and there he would be with some cutting remark. He wanted to hear his mocking laugh, even if it was at his own expense.

“You think I will forgive you now that you're back?” Laurent imagined him saying. “I've been waiting for your incompetent ass to show up while you pranced around with your barbaric slave. Classless as usual.”

 _He is no longer a slave, and neither are you._ Laurent longed to say that.

“I'm back,” he found himself whispering. He said it to all the ghosts he felt haunted this palace.

The morning didn’t come soon enough, he was on horseback the moment the sun began to bleed over the horizon, sore with missing Damen. It was now the halfway point in his travel, the peak of the mountain. The trip back south would be much less straining. 

. . .

At last, Laurent crossed the now nonexistent border to see the fort of Marlas come into view. 

He had just come from Marche which held the largest and most vital port city in Vere. There, he found his architect, a woman named Nadine. She had exceeding knowledge on the structure and importance of a port city. In the end, Laurent convinced her to move from her home, not only to work on he and Damen’s vision for the new palace, but to sit on the council. 

The work Laurent did in Vere was not all on the record. At nights, he donned modest clothing and covered his hair with a hat, completely unlike the ostentatious one he wore when traveling with Charls. At first, he wasn’t sure what his mission was, until he was approached by a young girl. 

Laurent had kneeled down to her level and asked for her name. “Cherise,” she had said. “But for a gold sideris it can be whatever you desire.” 

Laurent had felt a rise of disgust, which had little to do with the child herself, and then anger. He looked at her more closely and saw that her dress was nice, though dirty along the edges, and most prominently the long string of pearls wrapped twice around her neck. At first glance, it could have been a child in her mother’s jewelry. 

In several towns Laurent visited, he went and assessed the brothels. Specifically, if they were employing children. In each, he found that yes, they were. They weren’t like his uncles chambers, boys strewn across plush surfaces waiting to be chosen. Laurent had to act as a client, a vile one, who would be interested in such a thing. 

It shouldn’t have disheartened him as it did, because he well knew the ugly nature of men. In disguise, there was not much more he could do than leave behind a sack of coin and hope it would get them through a few nights without sharing anyone’s bed. 

Back in Marlas, he could regroup, think, and act to make changes. It was all he thought about on way back home, how he could make the lives of children better in his country. A desperate part of him wanted to care for them all himself. They deserved the blissful ignorance that childhood allowed for some. Reluctantly, he walked away, but he would be back without fail.

He was late returning home, both in the day and by schedule. Damen had expected him a week ago, but word should have reached him that he’d gotten caught up in Marche and would be delayed. He would have been even later had he not declined the Lady of Fortaine a night of rest in her fort. Instead he rode straight through to Delpha.

Laurent made his way back to his and Damen’s personal corridor, he didn’t have the guards alert Damen of his arrival so he could wake him himself. First, to bathe the long ride home away. Two months of riding and formal company kept him stiff and alert, he could hardly make himself relax even now that he was exhausted and steps from his own chambers.

He rolled his neck, fingers reaching to knead into his shoulder, hoping for release. When he looked forward again, he stopped dead in is tracks. 

Damen was there, standing in the flickering torchlight, barefoot and tousled hair. Sandals dangled from his fingers, his cape pinned, rather haphazardly, as if thrown on last minute. When he and Laurent locked gazes, the shoes slipped from his grasp. 

Laurent blinked, wondering for a brief moment if lack of sleep was causing him to hallucinate. But then Damen was moving, closing the distance between them and Laurent, frozen, managed to take a few steps before Damen was right there, sweeping him into an embrace. 

“You’re back.” Damen said, hand holding the back of his head. His voice, his touch, his smell, all of it was instant relief. 

“Damen.” His voice hitched with emotion and he didn’t care. 

Laurent turned to kiss him, hands grasping either side of his face. Damen kissed him back, opening his mouth so Laurent could slip his tongue inside, groaning as Laurent tightened his hold on him, legs like a vice. The kiss was deep and ridiculous, instantly addictive. 

Damen carried him all the way through to their rooms. Laurent’s back hit the bed and it was luxurious, the ivory sheets and gold duvet, their scents intermingled in everything. This was all his and he felt right in a way he only could with Damen. 

Damen sat back between his legs, staring at him as if he couldn’t believe he was really there. He moved to pull his boots off and Laurent couldn’t help the sound he made as Damen dug his thumbs into the arc of his foot.

Damen smiled at him, almost giddy, like Laurent was the world’s best kept secret and he was the only one in on it. 

“I was about to set out on horse to meet you. You took too long.” 

“I assure you I rode fast and well.”

“So I’d bet. It was still too long.”

Damen switched to his other foot. 

“My feet are filthy. I need to bathe.”

“After,” Damen breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. Laurent found he had no qualms with that. 

Damen pulled away again, this time to unpin his chiton. Laurent looked at him, unmistakably taking in every part of him; the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, skin sun deepened which made the lighter marks of his scars stand out, to the heaviness of his cock curved between powerful thighs. 

He drank in the sight of him like the first glass of wine after a long time going without. He was gorgeous, Laurent’s head absolutely spun with arousal. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.“And all I wanted to do was get some sleep,” Laurent said.

He felt Damen lean between his splayed legs, bring their groins flush. Fingers touched his chin, prompting him to open his eyes, his other hand smoothing up the inside of his leg, palming over his hardness and gently massaging the evident strain in his pants. 

“You taunt us both,” Damen hummed. 

Laurent looked back at him and saw that Damen’s eyes were blown, dark and heady. Lip wet where he unconsciously licked, Laurent felt mad with desire. His oversensitivity magnified by how long it had been, and clearly Damen was the same. 

“Then what are you waiting for. Touch me.” 

“I am.” Damen continued kneading him through his pants. 

“Fuck me,” Laurent firmly commanded. “Make love to me. Come buried deep inside me.” His aim was to rile Damen, it did of course, but his voice betrayed him. The words coming out hitched and breathless, rather than mocking and controlled. 

He wanted it badly, which was clear to both of them. He wanted to feel Damen thick and hot inside him, to feel nothing but their bodies taking pleasure in each other. He didn’t let himself feel it the last two months, only now did he feel how starved he was for his touch.

Damen shivered and groaned his name. “I need you.”

“You have me.” 

Damen kissed him and set one hand to the task of undoing the laces of his pants. Then they were off. 

Laurent deepened the kiss as he went about unlacing his own sleeves, where they were wound behind Damen’s head. 

Damen moved on to the sensitive skin of his neck, making Laurent gasp then sigh, head tipping back. He kissed his way down to the hollow of Laurent’s throat, expertly unraveling laces as he went. He pressed his lips in the shallow dip there, teeth grazing his collarbone. In a moment the fabric was pushed open, and he made no move to remove it. Damen put his mouth wherever he could manage, sucking each nipple between his lips, fingers digging into his waist. 

Laurent gave himself up to sensation, and when he was panting and flush, writhing is not a word Laurent wanted to use, but it was close to the place he was in, Damen moved to look at him. Laurent dug his heels into his back to pull him back in, but he didn’t budge. 

“You look good like this,” Damen said.

“Half naked beneath you? I’m shocked you think so.” His curls were a bit longer, Laurent noted wildly, almost falling over his eyes. Laurent was thankful he could see them, deep, glowing brown, the way Damen admired his body sent a shiver through him. “Although, I could say the same.”

Damen grinned, moving to grab oil. He took his time to work Laurent open, too long since they’d last been like this. One finger, then two, Laurent didn’t even demand a third, though he wanted to. Eventually, Damen gave that to him too, and then it was his cock positioned at his entrance. 

Laurent spread his legs further, back arching and Damen pressed in slowly, until there was no more to go. Each thrust was long, deep, and slow. At first, Laurent expected them to fuck fast and desperate, this was anything but. Damen pushed the hair back from his forehead and kissed him tenderly. 

In their time apart, Laurent almost forgot how well they moved together. Like waves breaking against the shore, only to pull back and do it all over again. Rhythmic, natural, and powerful. Whatever force compelled the momentum of the waves, couldn’t be dissimilar to that which brought Damen and him together, again, and again. In the last two months, it was impossible to forget how it good it felt, but memories were nothing compared to having it, here and now. 

Inevitably, they climaxed, Damen moaning his name, over and over, like it was the only word that ever mattered to him.

Before Damen opened his eyes, Laurent got up and came back with a wet cloth and wiped them both down. Damen hummed his gratitude, catching his wrist before he could turn away again and pulled Laurent back to him. 

They laid like that, Laurent’s head on his chest, until Damen spoke some time later. “We are never doing that again.”

“What is that?”

“Separating,” Damen said, rolling so he balanced over Laurent. “I hated every moment of it. We’ve done it and as King, I must veto it ever happening again.” 

Laurent couldn’t help but laugh, running his hands down Damen’s absurdly large arms. “I like the way you assert your power, Exalted.”

“Don’t. I am too weak.” 

Laurent laughed softly. “King as well, I stand by your decision.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Damen. Of course, I couldn’t stand it.”

Damen kissed him, and then kept kissing him until he requested he move onto his stomach. Laurent gave him a look, and he laughed, claiming he only wanted to continue his massage. So Laurent let him work through the knots in his back, somehow knowing just which ones unlocked the rest. 

Damen worked his way down to his lower back, ending the massage with a kiss to dimples above the rise of his ass. Laurent rolled back over, motioning for Damen to come lay beside him. 

Damen made a pleased sound as he fit in next to him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Imagine if we had time for this all day, every day.”

Laurent hummed rather wistfully. “Then who would take care of our countries?”

“Our most trusted men and women, for a short time anyway.” 

Laurent stalled, suddenly realizing this wasn’t a game of ‘how it could be’. Damen’s gorgeous and infuriating grin told him he wasn’t ready for what was about to be said. 

“Let me take you on a trip.”

“Damianos,” Laurent said, dismissively. 

“Laurent,” he said, seriously. 

“Don’t be absurd. We just got back from a trip.” 

Laurent tried to distract him with kissing, but Damen showcased his superior strength and didn’t budge, so he sighed and gave up. “A trip where, exactly?” 

“You’re not the only one who can scheme.”

“Scheme.”

“I’ve made arrangements for us to take a private break. To Isthima.” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Nikandros will burst a vein, is that what you want for your dearest friend?”

“I would never make a plan without Nik’s blessing. This is happening, Laurent. If only you say yes, we leave in a week.”

“But the heat.” Laurent grappled for an excuse. They didn’t need to leave again, he had all he wanted right here. 

“It is well into fall.” 

“I remember Ios this time last year. It was still damn hot.” A fraction of a moment later Laurent realized what he noted. “A year…”. 

Somehow they reached this milestone together without Laurent noticing. It may be the first time in ages he didn’t pay meticulous attention to time passing. For a long time it was a source of his grief, every day that passed meant his memory grew hazier. Then time became wholly something else. It became a race of survival. The closer he got to coming of age, the thinner the rope holding the axe above his head became. He could never forget time, he could never relax, not with so much to lose. But now his uncle was far removed from the equation and the only thing he sees when he looks above him is Damianos smiling down on him. One year, Laurent had been free. 

“A year,” Damen said. “Let me gift you this, for us. If you’re afraid of the sun, we can stay in the whole time, just like this.” 

A private vacation with Damen. The longer Laurent worked his mind over it, the less reason he could find to argue. Indeed, there was endless work to be done, not enough to say no.

“For how long?” Laurent asked. 

Damen broke into a victorious smile. “Three weeks on the island. Plus a week or so of travel but I think it will still be-”

Laurent cut him off with a kiss. 

“In what way do you consider this a scheme?”

“I made all the plans secretly so you couldn’t stop me. And so I could surprise you for once.” 

Laurent finally returned his smile. “You have always been able to surprise me.” 

“And here I thought I was predictable.”

“Predictable enough to know how you wish to spend our time on the island.” 

“I suppose that’s obvious.”

“Quite.”

“I cannot be blamed. You propose that we get married and still I can’t have you as often as I’d like. Who knows when I’ll be able to bed you as my husband.”

Laurent flushed, what he was sure a flattering shade of pink. “Woe is you, King Damianos.” Words not as dry as intended. 

“Quite,” Damen parroted. “So, we’re going, right?” 

“Yes.” Laurent tugged Damen’s mouth back to his. 

Damen broke off, kissing from his neck all the way to the shallow dip of his hips. He spread his legs apart, kissing and sucking marks into the soft flesh of his inner thighs, using one hand to gently roll his balls. Soon enough Laurent was completely hard again, and then Damen was taking him into his mouth. Hot and velvet, Laurent actually keened, over sensitive from his last orgasm, though Damen didn’t let up and he didn’t want him to.

Inevitably, Laurent came again, pulling hard at Damen’s hair, forearm flung over his eyes, until Damen pulled it away, pressing it back into the sheets. Laurent came back down, panting softly, as Damen rolled his erection into Laurent’s stomach. One, twice, and Laurent saw it ending just like that and Laurent was unsatisfied, despite having just finished twice. 

Laurent snaked a hand downward, making a tight ring around Damen’s cock. 

“Laurent,” he begged. 

A new energy sparkled in his blue eyes. “Ah, ah,” he scolded. “I don’t want you to come there.”

Damen groaned helplessly.

Laurent flipped them, so Damen was on his back, while he sat comfortably splayed over his stomach. 

“Inside me.”

Damen bucked his hips up, grinning like the prideful man he was. It sent Laurent forward, bracing himself next to his head so he didn’t completely fall forward.

Laurent gave him a look, one he used to command armies, one that said, “Move like that again, and I will only make this harder for you.” 

Damen swallowed thickly, resting his hands on his hips. 

Laurent plucked them away from his skin and pressed them into the mattress just above either side of his head. “Keep them there.” Damen swallowed and did as he was told.

Laurent ran his hands down the thick ropes of muscle in his arms, down to his chest, enjoying every helpless movement from Damen

“You want to come?” 

“Please.” 

“You got off on making me come?” 

“You know I do.” 

“...Yes.”

Laurent reached around, taking Damen in hand. He lifted and positioned himself, when he felt the head catch his rim, he began to slowly sink down on his cock. 

By the time Laurent was flush with Damen’s hips, he was getting hard again. It was a lot, to push himself like this, but he wanted Damen inside him again. He wanted to make him come. 

Damen watched him, breathing deep, teeth buried in his lip, fingers twitching to be released from their invisible bonds. 

Laurent lifted up, then back down. He took it as slow, letting his head fall back with a moan. 

He leaned forward to pin Damen’s down again, knowing they were dying to touch him. He wanted to be in control still, to set the pace, because he knew what he could do to Damen and he wanted to see him come apart.

Their fingers laced together, hips slowly thrusting, Damen’s impatience and pleasure growing in volume, trying to urge him on, hips twitching up. Every time he made a pointed thrust, Laurent stopped completely, so he stopped trying to get away with that quickly enough. 

Laurent was soon out of breath, muscles burning in his thighs, panting for breath. He grazed his lips over Damen’s, nipping and murmuring words of praise and pleasure, his long hair shielding them. Even then, when Damen tried to deepen the kiss, Laurent pulled back just out of reach. 

Laurent kept Damen right on the edge of what he could handle, until he was completely hard and ready to relinquish control. Lips at his ear, he whispered, “Take me.”

Immediately, Laurent was on his back, legs splayed, as Damen pushed back in. He took up a fast pace, hips snapping like they couldn’t before, unrelenting. 

“Yes. _Damianos._ ”

It’s enough for Laurent and he comes, nails digging into his back, and Damen followed right after. 

Damen left his weight pressing Laurent into the mattress and he doesn’t care, happy when Damen’s arms wrap around him, pulling them impossibly closer. His mind called to him to get up and clean them off, filthy with travel and spending, but it was only a very small part of his mind. The rest sinking into the heady warmth of being completely, unbelievably sated, in Damen’s embrace. 

They were home. 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the next chapter way more lol, which I'm gonna post in a day or two. It was supposed to be combined, but things got long... as is the theme with this story.


	3. All This and Heaven Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about it being a couple days. My bad. I fixate on details, hence why me wanting to write a fluffy fic about babies has turned into a slow burn of sorts... I hope it was kinda worth the wait.

The island was as Damen remembered, except with Laurent it was like experiencing it all for the first time. The boat ride from Marlas to Isthima took two days, at the dock they were greeted by the household officials of Kyros Ziona. A feast awaited them in the island palace, as did a night of entertainment and wine, but not before a bath

The palace, built before Queen Agar conquered the island, was reminiscent of native Isthima architecture. Nearly every part of it open air so you could feel the cool ocean breeze, thick slabs of white limestone cut into archways and domes, embedded with jade, coral, and mother of pearl. From a distance, when the sun was at the right angle, the palace sparkled. Vines snaked up the walls like veins in a hand, balconies thronged with men and women as their Kings arrived, throwing petals in welcome and devotion. 

Maybe too soon into the feast, Laurent pulled Damen away to their rooms, luxuriously prepared for their stay. They spent the first night and wholly the next day in each other's arms, making love and murmuring tender affections, Damen’s senses filled with the scent of orange blossom and Laurent, everything was golden. 

Each day following, they explored and enjoyed the land and sea. Isthmians were active people, waking before sunrise to set out on their boats and open market. Artists set up in the street, carving wood and molding clay. Wherever they went, a tune could be heard being hummed or strummed, like music was as natural as the wind and waves. The two of them stood out plainly, even with Laurent in simple white clothing. When they walked through village, Damen was happy to see Laurent greeted just as warmly he. 

The children, who always swarmed Damen’s for attention, now huddled around Laurent, asking questions in a dialect he at least feigned to understand perfectly. When they reached out for his golden hair, Laurent knelt down so they could touch. Damen watched the scene like an impending collision, but Laurent only laughed graciously at their probing fingers and starry-eyed compliments. 

The island was their’s to explore, and the best way to see everything was on horse. It could be done easily in less than two days, and as the day grew darker, Laurent showed no intention of getting out of the saddle. They chased the sun, riding through lush grasses and along the sandy water's edge. Damen had always taken for granted places like this, for Laurent is was a wholly new experience, elation cracking any sense of composure one might have noted in him.

Eventually, they came to a rest, one by one the stars came out, the same stars that saw them rise to their rightful thrones one year ago. 

They pointed out constellations and shared stories and secrets until they were too sleepy to talk. Damen made a fire and unpacked the blanket they’d share to sleep a night under the sky, like they had when they first came to know each other. 

They woke with the sun, hungry and stiff, but content tangled in each other. Laurent tightened his laces and got up, filling water for the horses, and pulling out food for the two of them. They continued on they way around the island, when Damen called to stop. 

“You have to try these,” Damen said, going off the trail and dismounting. 

Laurent followed him, reluctant to get out of the saddle. “I’ve had lemon before.” 

Damen approached the tree, reaching for a fruit almost out of reach. It was nearly the size of his palm. 

“Yes, but these aren’t the same as the ones you get from the western kingdoms,” he said, ready to pry open it’s rinds. Laurent handed him the knife he kept at his hip. 

Damen sliced the lemon open, cool juice wetting his fingers. Laurent took a wedge from him, eyeing it carefully before setting it between his lips. 

Laurent bit down into it, eyes widening. “It’s a bit... sweet.” 

Damen nodded, taking a piece for himself. “Almost tart, and not unbearably sour.” He could eat the entire thing by itself, he was known in palace kitchens for his craving of lemon desserts. 

Laurent eyed him, like he was waiting for him to pucker up at the flavor. “It’s still quite sour.” 

Damen shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.” 

They made it back before high noon. In general, the sun was too harsh for Laurent. While Damen walked around with his chiton unpinned around his waist, Laurent tried to remain covered from wrist to ankle to prevent burning, and consequently, Damen’s touch.

Typically, they’d embark from island palace at dawn, returning at midday to avoid the sun at its peak. That was when they bathed to stay cool, indulged in the island delicacies Damen requested, and made love. 

There was also the library. Small, but unique in many ways. It held first edition scrolls of every epic poem known to Akielos. Laurent insisted that he read them while they were there, laying his head on Damen’s chest while Damen listened to the stories he’s known all his life. It was unlike any experience, to hear them told in Laurent’s exquisite, lilting accent, at the perfect tempo. 

Most days they visited Damen’s favorite stretch of beach, located on the northwestern side of the island. It was riddled with tide pools and giant shells, and went on for miles. The first time, Laurent looked up at him with gentle surprise when they stepped onto the too hot sand. 

“Come on,” Damen took his hand and they hurried to the cool, wet sand. The water was crystal blue, closer in shade to the turquoise worn by courtiers in Patras, than the deep lapis of the northern sea. They could see everything, from tiny fish darting around, to the gentle ripples of white sand under the waves.

“I’ve never… been taught to swim,” Laurent carefully admitted. 

“I could hold you the whole time,” Damen suggested. 

“I want to go in. Show me.” 

Slowly they worked their way in, until Laurent was chest deep, repressing gasps at every inch of cool water that touched his skin. His white clothes soaked through and clung to his skin, becoming see through everywhere Damen could see. Damen reached out for him as the water pulled back and began to swell on a much bigger wave. 

Swimming lessons proved to be challenging when neither wanted to let go of each other. Damen kissed him through every wave that came, pushing off the ocean floor to easily float over top. 

They weren’t always alone there, children came to play in the water, ducking under waves and building castles in the sand. They swam in circles around where Damen taught Laurent the basics of treading water and forward stroke.

They called out pointers, helpful or not, Laurent listened to them all, finally relaxing and trusting the water and his body to help keep his head above. In less than a week, Laurent was completely capable on his own, which didn’t surprise Damen in the least. 

The children played all sorts of games, which Laurent quickly noted and before long he was not only in on the games, but completely orchestrating them. It was incredible to watch the children react to him, like he wasn’t their King, but a friend. 

As Damen broke the surface from searching the ocean floor, Laurent suddenly latched onto his back, nearly squealing in his ear. 

“What happened?” He asked, panicked. 

“Something touched me.” 

Damen looked around until he found the offense, scooping into the water. “It’s just seaweed.” Laurent recoiled away from it, arms tightening painfully around his neck. “Are you afraid of grass?” He laughed, wriggling it in front of his nose. 

“No.” Laurent slapped his hand away. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s just a plant.” Damen tossed it away. “Are you going to cling to me the whole time.” 

“No,” he said again, making no move to get off. 

“Better plug your nose then.”

“Damen don’t you--”

Damen fell back into the water submerging them both, until Laurent was unattached and pushing him off. 

Laurent’s golden, soaked head burst through the water, absolutely scowling and gasping for breath, hair matted ridiculously to his forehead. Damen clutched his stomach laughing. 

Laurent splashed water in his face and did everything he could to push Damen’s head underwater, but Damen just plucked him off and tossed him into the waves. Damen thought he won when Laurent swam away, but it was only to call on the kids for help, and then it was war. 

Which Damen ended up losing, barely escaping Laurent’s ruthless army of children. The sand broke his fall when he made it to land, he could hear cheers of victory. 

When he caught his breath, he peeked an eye open at the shadow that fell over him to see Laurent’s perfect silhouette.

“My dear, undefeatable Damianos, it seems you picked a fight you couldn’t win.”

“I was sprayed in the eye, amongst other foul play.” 

Laurent laid down beside him in the warm sand. “A win’s a win, I’ve come to claim my prize.” A cool hand met his cheek, turning his head so Laurent could kiss him. Damen’s toes dug in the sand, spoiled in another’s victory. 

Damen didn’t think he could adore Laurent any more until he met him with sand in his hair and salty lips, cheeks pink and freckled from the sun. When sunset came he didn’t care to watch it transform the sky to shades of pink, gold, and blue. The sun would be there tomorrow, and every day after that, and Damen would always choose to look upon Laurent instead. 

Once the sky and sea were mirrored in inky darkness, the villagers liked to enjoy themselves. The fish caught and sold, shops closed, chores completed, all that was left was to drink and dance. Laurent indulged more than he didn’t, claiming he was acquiring a taste for Akielon wine. 

Laurent danced like the spoke. He was good at it, for sure, and hard to keep up with. He moved elegantly yet, sharp and precise. He watched the natives move and emulated them. Damen was transfixed by his movements and he wasn’t the only one. Men, women, and children all asked for a chance to dance with him. Damen too, but Laurent easily had the most requests. Laurent said yes to some, no to many, but by the end of the three weeks he likely danced with everyone in the village. 

Damen honestly couldn’t go more than two songs without Laurent. Whoever it was that he butted in on, bowed deeply and departed so King could dance with King. Torch light washed the night in an amber glow, flickering on Laurent’s classical features and illuminating the spark in his vivid blue eyes. 

A song played that Damen had requested countless times before, the very one that played the first night he kissed Laurent. 

“The dialect of all the epics originate from here, don’t they?” Damen confirmed that they were. “I understand most of it now.” Laurent listened and they spun. “Right there, what does it say exactly?”

Damen translated it without the dialect. They danced slow and close, chest to chest, his hands on Laurent’s waist, though it was Laurent who led. 

“‘His sigh brings cities to ruin?’ Interesting. I see why you favor this song.”

“Do you?” 

“You too are dramatically romantic. I would venture that words could bring ruin, but sighs? That’s just maudlin.”

Damen dipped Laurent back, slow and deep. “I was not made for beauty like yours.”

Laurent groaned, leaning back into Damen. His cheeks flush. “Yes you were, you were made specifically to handle me, I believe.”

“Now who’s being romantic.”

“Me,” he said, fingertips brushing the back of his neck. He went on tiptoes to kiss Damen sweetly. “Let’s have an epic written for us. A new favorite song to call out.” 

“What shall it be called?” 

The song ended and another began. No one came to ask for a dance. The floor was all but theirs, as the night drifted to a close. 

“‘King’s Rising.’” 

“Will it be a love song?” he asked softly. 

“Of course,” Laurent whispered. 

Back in their bed, heavy with sleep from the sun and sea, they passed out almost instantly in each other's arms. 

They spent a those weeks together as close as they could be. It was a string of heady days, filled with sweet, unhurried lovemaking, when they weren’t enjoying the island. Damen spent as much time inside him as possible, coaxing Laurent into an endless state of pleasure.

The first time Damen had come to Isthima, it was with Kastor and his mother. The last time had been with Jokaste. They had visited the island together several times, being only two hour boat ride from Ios. He always imagined whenever he proposed that he would do so on the white sands, the sea as witness. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine being proposed to. 

That was a lifetime ago. Laurent was his future and Jokaste… she was someplace Damen knew not, with a child who shared his own blood. 

He brought Laurent to celebrate a year of having reclaimed their thrones together. It also marked the time Jokaste’s son was born. Damen couldn’t help wondering if the two of them were okay, wherever they were.

Damen knew nothing of infants. Was the boy walking? Saying his first words? Could he assume they were happy? It was likely she took him back to her family home, where she would have all the help she needed in raising him. Not that she needed help, in anything that she does. That idea comforted Damen. 

During these three weeks here, he saw Laurent interact with the island children, the amazing ease with which he did it, and he wanted it for them. He wanted a child with Laurent that was theirs to love and raise.

Damen had thought seriously about fathering children once in his life. His father believed Jokaste was a good fit for him. He said in his own ways that she would make a great Queen of Akielos; cunning where Damen was forthright. 

Damen had never felt for anyone what he felt for Jokaste, so children and wedding seemed like the natural step to take. As his father grew more and more ill, Damen could think of nothing but the grief of losing him forever and became blind to what was happening in the shadows of the palace, and to the growing swell in her belly. 

From the age of fifteen, he never payed much mind as to where he emptied himself. He was the crown prince, he could do so wherever he liked. It was a matter of pride and power to take slaves into bed. Everyone knew his preference for women, everyone knew what inevitably happened when a man bed a woman. 

With Halvik’s clanswomen, breeding had been the crux of the matter. Cup after cup of that warm, intoxicating drink made sure it was a success. Damen had no real idea how many women he spent in that night. Many, but not as many as the slaves he’d had in Ios over the years. Above all, he had no idea how many children resulted from his chronic indulgences. 

In their final days on the island, Damen was distracted by these sort of thoughts. Laurent eyed him carefully when he was expected to respond and then needed what was said repeated. Being here had done something to him, made him want new things, and that came with a certain fear.

They said their goodbyes to the villagers and children before retiring for the night. The boat would leave in the morning, a fact the children wailed at. They offered he and Laurent two crowns of yellow and orange flowers, and one child threw himself at Laurent’s legs. He came down to his level for a hug and placed a kiss on his cheek. Damen’s heart swelled as the child brushed away fat tears with the back of his hand. 

He wasn’t sure what Laurent’s feelings were on raising children. They hadn’t spoke of it outside of the last council meeting it had been brought up in. Laurent likely had an idea for appointing an heir, he had ideas about everything. 

Damen had no idea where to start even if they did want to have a child. He couldn’t have Jokaste’s baby… he knew that. But he realized he needed to contact her, if only to confirm that they didn’t need his help.

Would it bother Laurent, that he wanted to see a former love? The very one who put him in chains and used a newborn to manipulate him. 

When they came back to their rooms, there was a pregnant quiet between, both in their own mind. 

Laurent called for a bath to be drawn and within moments servants were in and out of their bathing chamber, steam and floral scents floating through the open doors. 

Damen unpinned his chiton, letting it drop to the floor, entering as Laurent lowered himself into the flower petaled water.

Laurent looked at him, long and slow, before meeting his eyes. Damen would never grow tired of Laurent’s eyes on him. 

He went and settled himself in the water across from Laurent. The tub was long and deep. Damen opened his arms and Laurent came into them, wet hands sliding from his forearms to shoulders. Laurent placed an easy kiss on his lips before turning around and nestling in Damen’s arms. 

They soaked to the sound of crashing waves, bodies slick and warming in the heated water. 

“What was your mother like?” Damen asked, as steam settled around them. 

Laurent set his palms on the surface of the water, carefully floating them there. “She was more brilliant than any person I’d ever known. I don’t know if you noticed her portrait in Arles,” Damen hadn’t. “I look like her. Auguste too, though he had quite a bit of our father’s look as well. She was blonde and fair, blue eyed. The coloring is not such a rarity in Kemp,” Laurent said.

“Did you love her?” Damen’s hands laid over his, their fingers intertwining in the water. 

“Yes,” Laurent answered with simple genuinity. “We were very close. She encouraged my love of the written and spoken word. She saw to it that I was a budding diplomat.” Damen was glad Laurent had someone like that to look up to and learn from. He was probably speaking like an adult well before age six, which was easy to imagine. 

“She sounds incredible.”

Laurent nodded, setting his head back against Damen’s shoulder. “She believed I would be a great asset to my brother once he was king. She understood more than anyone else that I held no interest for the things Auguste excelled in, and gratified me when I felt poorly about my... disadvantages. She also gave me my love of games.”

“And disguises?” 

Laurent squeezed his hand tighter. “She did have a small collection of hats. No dresses in my size, unfortunately.” 

Damen hummed. “I always wondered what it would be like to grow up with a mother.”

“Was Hypermnestra any sort of mother to you?” Laurent asked, handing him a scented oil. 

Damen took it and poured some into his palm. “No. She was there, but she never minded me much. Kastor was her son.” 

“She wanted him to be king,” Laurent assessed. 

“She and my father were in love. In another life, he would have been.” 

They were silent again, Damen scrubbed gentle fingers into Laurent’s hair, washing then rising. Laurent turned in his arms, reaching out for the oil to do the same to Damen. He closed his eyes as Laurent worked slowly, massaging his scalp how he knew Damen liked. 

“Have you ever thought about what it would mean to raise a child?” Laurent asked. 

Damen shook his head, ducking under water to rinse. Only recently had he given it so much thought. “If I did I would have thought I wanted to be a father like my own,” he said, pushing his hair back. 

“And now?” Laurent sat back, arm draped along the side of the tub. He used a clip to keep his clean hair twisted in a bun on top of his head. Water clung to his thick eyelashes, and Damen watched a single drop run along his jaw, before dripping off his chin.

“And now, I want to be the kind of father who cherishes his children for who they are… not for who they are to become.” 

Laurent seemed to think on his words. “Did you ever think that Kastor deserved the throne?”

“No.” That answer was easy. “Because when everyone tells you who you are from the moment you’re born, you don’t second guess it. I didn’t, at least. I should have wondered how it felt for Kastor to have all that ripped from him. I never dreamed he would want me killed, and worse.”

Laurent tapped the stone with a nail. “Ah. To be a fate worse than death.” 

“It was what Jokaste told me, when she had me in chains. Kastor wanted me to suffer knowing he had won.” 

“I do wonder how much Jokaste had a hand in that. Kastor didn’t seem… thoughtful enough. And my uncle wouldn’t have asked outright.” 

“Maybe. I don’t see why she would go that far.” 

A pause. “Because she didn’t want you to die.”

Damen looked at Laurent, speechless. It was only a guess at her twisted motives, one that made sense in the simplest way. Yet it was outrageous. If Jokaste truly didn’t want him dead, then why not just warn him of Kastor?

Immediately, he realized he had been warned. Jokaste, like Nik, had once asked him to see what he would not. If Kastor hadn’t decided to enslave him, sparing his life, he would be dead right now, given no chance to return and retake the throne. 

Laurent stood and Damen’s vision was obscured by his glossy lower half. Laurent stepped out of the bath and offered Damen a hand. 

They dried each other off with warm towels. Laurent dressed in a simple night shirt that hung mid thigh. Longer than a chiton, Damen had complained the first time he wore it. Damen put on a pair of white linen shorts. They sat together on the couch and Laurent spoke. 

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” They faced each other, one of Laurent’s legs folded beneath him, the other on the floor. He sat straight and serious, but there was no tension. He places a hand on Damen’s knee. “I think it’s the same thing you want to say to me.” 

Shock showed in his expression and Laurent rolled his eyes. “You did not rouse at all in the bath. Your mind has been elsewhere for more than day.” 

“Apparently so has yours.”

“I want children with you, Damen.”

Damen opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’ve said before that your line ends with you.”

“It does.”

“But you want children?”

“It’s not fatherhood I’m against, just the bit that involves a woman. The blonde hair ends with me, let’s say.”

Damen let that absorb. For a moment he lost track, desperately thinking of a way to pass on his invaluable blonde hair through Damen himself…. But that was far away from the point.

“You want to be a father, of my children, with me?” 

That seemed to amuse Laurent, his words coated in deep affection. “There is no one else.”

Damen wanted to kiss him for alleviating the pressure of keeping so much in, for wanting the same thing as him, but he felt complicated.

“You have reservations?” Laurent asked.

Damen stuck with the obvious. “It’s not going to be simple.”

“Yes. We’ve already recognized that we are somewhat unwilling to share one another.” 

“Somewhat.” 

“And I can’t see the council approving a random adoption, I loathe to admit they are right, but royal lineage would be ideal.” Clearly, Laurent had already given this considerable thought. “Our only and best option would be your already existing children.” 

“Any child I’ve borne is a bastard. We’ll lose favor with half of the council and all of Vere.” 

“Bastards aren’t deleterious.”

“I’m not the one who needs convincing,” Damen said. “The people took pride in the royal family using slaves, will they continue to respect all the changes we make?”

“They have so far. I want to continue changing what pride means to our people. The slaves are disbanded, and so they want a sign of your virility and power? Are your children not just that?”

“Can we expect any of our people to respect a bastard heir after everything that’s happened?”

“Don’t mistake me, Damianos. I would not tolerate any disrespect towards our child.”

Damen stood and went to the open window. Laurent turned, watching him carefully. “There is something more that worries you.”

It was a sickening feeling the clung to the happiness he wanted to feel. “When I thought your uncle had my son, my whole world shifted. I thought of my father. I thought of what it meant to protect the ones you love.” Damen gripped the window sill. Moonlight cast over the sea spread out in front of him. Ios sat just out of sight, in the distance. “I’ve taken many, slaves and nobility alike. I don’t have any idea how many children of my blood exist out there. It’s inexcusable.” 

“Much of it was your upbringing.” Laurent said, coming to stand beside him, placing a hand on his arm. “It was expected of you to do what you did.”

“No one forced me to do anything with my cock,” Damen said, looking down at him. 

Those words hung in the air before Laurent answered him. “You acted as your father did, and likely his father before him. No one questions what goes on behind the King’s door.”

“Does that make it right?” Damen asked. He knew the answer. 

“No.” A pause. “But we’re changing things.”

Damen knew he was right. There was only moving forward now… away from the slave culture that his country had always known. It can’t take away what’s been done, the people he and his countrymen have taken advantage of. The lives he never took responsibility for. 

Laurent reached out when he didn’t say anything more, resting a hand on his cheek so he would look in his eyes again, soft and resolute. “You feel regret? Shame?” Damen did. “There’s so much we can do to take responsibility. We will protect all our people, especially the ones who can’t protect themselves.”

Damen thought about what those words meant coming from him. Laurent was an endless source of inspiration to him. Of all the men he had known and fought with, Laurent was easily the strongest. 

Pressing their foreheads together, he quietly admitted, “I feel like I’ve already failed at being a good father.”

“You won’t. I’ve yet to see you truly fail at anything,” Laurent said. “I don’t see this being your downfall.”

Damen leaned into his touch, laying a hand over Laurent’s. “Thank you.” 

“You have me, and I have you. We won’t fail.”

Damen cupped Laurent’s cheeks, tilting his head to kiss him tenderly on the lips. 

“So, you think we should contact Vask?”

“Aren’t you curious what you left behind?” Laurent smiled carefully.

“That night… I don’t even know what’s come of it.” 

“Knowing hakesh, and knowing you, love, surely much has come of it.”

“Children…” Damen felt dazed. 

Laurent nodded thoughtfully. “Luckily, Halvik likes us quite a bit. It’s been awhile since I negotiated with her.” He seemed excited at the thought. Damen kept thinking as he spoke. “Her women would have given birth earlier this year. Right around the cusp of summer, so we’d likely have to wait until they’re weaned… Damen?”

“Do you think I made her good daughters?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out.” 

“Laurent.”

“What is it?” 

“I’ve been thinking about Jokaste.” Damen paused, not quite sure for what. He wanted Laurent to say something, but there was nothing to say. “I want to find her.”

“I agree,” Laurent said. “Don’t look so surprised. Do I seem so easily threatened? If she were to challenge me, I’d accept.”

Damen thought what that might be like. “You’d win,” he said. 

“Precisely.” Laurent led him back to the couch. “Why do you want to find Jokaste?” 

“The child has my blood… he is a descendant of my father. I have to know they’re safe.” 

Laurent took his hand, pushing open his fingers to place in it a parchment, neatly folded. Damen read over the words and looked at him in apparent disbelief. “You think the child is mine?”

“I’d like to know for sure.” Laurent pushed his half dried hair behind an ear. “I thought it wasn’t a possibility, but lately I’ve been wondering otherwise.”

Damen had already done the math back in Karthas. He had accepted the child could be his. The letter Laurent wrote was addressed to Jokaste and her son, extending an invitation to Marlas. 

“How did you know I wanted this?” 

“I know you.” Laurent folded the letter back as it was. “And I want them to be safe too.”

Damen kissed his forehead “Incredible. Thank you.” 

“I’ll have messengers sent first thing on our return home. I’m hoping you can narrow down places I should send them.” 

Damen nodded and kissed him again, grateful the best man in the world was his. The day was long, his body now relaxed and warm from the bath, mind cleared of thought. He followed Laurent to the bed, where the sheets were turned down and waiting. 

They were going to have a child, he thought blissfully. A daughter, perhaps. It won’t be easy, he didn’t know the first thing about parenthood, but he and Laurent were known to pull off the impossible. 

“What about you?” Damen asked, once they were settled. “What would having children mean to you?” 

It wasn’t until after Laurent settled in between the sheets, turning into Damen’s embrace, that he answered, “I think they would mean more to me than any number of kingdoms combined.”

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every comment is like a kick in the ass to write faster ;) <3


	4. Empress's Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just picked up a full time job so if I take much longer to update than normal, that's why! I don't think it will hinder me too much, I'll probably just want to rush home and write every day.

They spent the boat right back to Marlas drafting a trade agreement with Vask. Laurent formulated a list of supplies and a determined sum of gold they would be willing to offer in exchange for taking in one or two of the babies. 

Once they docked, Laurent’s yellow head disappeared while Damen thanked the Captain. Then he was back at Damen’s side, smiling like a cat who caught the canary. 

“It’s sent. I told the messenger not to come back until it’s in Lady Jokaste’s hands.” 

Damen felt a small weight lift off his chest. He was once so angry with Jokaste, he had wanted to yell and shake some sense into her, unable to wrap his mind around her motives, and why she hated him enough to do what she did.

That anger wasn’t with him any more. 

Laurent almost had him convinced they should go straight to Halvik once they docked. An adventure to stop human trafficking was one thing, to disappear for another two weeks and return with a baby is quite another. Somehow. They might not need explicit permission to have children, but their advisors need to be aware, if the royal family is to grow. 

Nikandros was Damen’s first advisor, and best friend. It was less his obligation, than his desire to call Nik in and tell him before anyone else. 

He entered the King’s chambers for breakfast without announcing himself. Damen was always thankful that Nik felt at ease around him and Laurent, enough to tuck away formalities every now and again. It felt nice to have casual company. 

“What is it, Damen,” Nik asked, taking a seat at the table laid out with food. “I missed you too, but I’d have seen you in an hour for the meeting. Where’s Laurent?” 

“Riding.” Damen sat across from him. “You missed me?” 

Nikandros huffed, lifting a cup to his lips. “The training yard lacks when you two are not there. It does the men good to have their backs put in the dirt time and time again.”

“Are you admitting that you can’t handle them on your own?” 

Nikandros laughed. “All I mean is, watch out for Pallas. He grows in your image more and more each day. He’s been itching to challenge you on your return.” 

Pallas did have the most promise, Damen smiled broadly at the thought of the young man one day posing a real challenge for him. “I look forward to it. How are the new additions to the guard fairing.” 

“Well. The boys are shaping up, and the Veretians are finding interest in the wrestling ring. The language barrier can be tough, as expected. I find I’m grateful for Jord much of the time. Reminds me, I need to thank Laurent for finding Simone. There’s a lot less screwing around with her there, she beat Jord and Enguerran in a duel. Incredible, really.”

Damen looked down at his plate as Nikandros ate and filled him in. He always imagined it like this, having his friend so close by, though he had assumed they would live out their lives in Ios. When he had imagined having children, he wanted Nik to be like family to them. So much had changed, but not that. 

“Laurent and I are going to have a child,” Damen announced.

Nikandros looked at him, spoon inches from his lips. He sighed and put it down. “I worried that council meeting would have an affect on you.”

“It’s what we want.” 

“I don’t have to play matchmaker, do I?”

“We won’t share anyone else’s bed.” 

“You know, there was a time I never thought I’d hear you say those words.” Damen remembered Nik giving him a list of names, blonde after blonde, he had seen Damen through every teenage attraction and beyond. It was assumed that once he was married, he would still take slaves, like the King always had. “What is your plan then? Do you expect babies to fall from the clouds?” 

Delicately, and in a single breath: “When I was a slave,” Nikandros still flinched, “Laurent made negotiations with the leader of a Vaskian tribe, and one thing she wanted, well… there is no doubt I have children from that night.” 

Nik’s brow raised in clear confusion, then furrowed in anger. “He used your body to gain support?”

“It wasn’t like that. There was this drink, and this woman, she wanted me and I--”

Nik held up a hand and nodded like he knew the rest well enough. “So you want the child. I’d do a lot for you Damen, but I’m not sure I can yank a child from its mother’s breast.” 

“That’s the thing, there isn’t just one child.”

. . .

As expected, the idea of a Vaskian heir was not taken well. Laurent sat bedside Damen at the round table, draft of the agreement presented on the table. 

“Shouldn’t there be a wedding first?” Rouvin picked furiously at a fingernail. 

“Hardly matters if they’re already bastards,” stated Nadine. 

Herode’s face had turned an amusing shade of red. “To bring impurity into the royal family and not be married officially, it’s welcoming bad fortune.” 

“You forget, they are already royalty,” Nikandros said, sitting just on the other side of Damen. “They are Damen’s blood, and so Theomedes and Egeria, and every King and Queen that has come before.” 

Herode crossed his arms. “It was proven by Kastor, it was proven by Queen’s Yseult’s mistake; history will keep repeating itself if we do not learn. We must think if we really want to lay the foundation of this new kingdom with such evil.” 

Laurent had heard this preached his whole life, and it was exhausting. To believe a child born outside of marriage could be a harbinger of bad luck was superstitious folly. The history of his ancestors, the massacre of every bastard in the palace, was an appallingly ignorant event that had no place in their current reign. 

“What you should be thinking about, is bringing outdated ideas into these council chambers,” Laurent said. “You demand purity, as if my family has no taint of its own.” He looked in the eyes of the white haired man who’d clearly had one too many desserts in his life. “My own uncle, the King’s brother, was ill of mind, yet pure in blood. Many innocents were lost in his attempt to usurp, that is what I consider evil.”

Herode simply bowed his head, conceding. “Your majesty.” 

“Vask is not someone we should easily trust. We should push for a peace treaty along with the trade agreement,” Demetria suggested. 

“Agreed,” Damen’s deep voice penetrated the tense air in the room. “From my experience, we can trust them if we uphold our end. Worst case, we are strong enough to handle them if they were to break.” 

“Relations gained from the treaty would mean so much to the provinces bordering Vask,” Rouvin contemplated. 

“But travesty if there was an ambush,” said Demetria.

“Per Exalted, if they show their true colors, then we fight,” Silvos boomed. “It’d be a fine chance to prove who the greater empire is.”

“A Vaskian on the throne…” Artemisia hummed. 

“Speak plainly.” 

“Well, it is rather outrageous. You won’t hear many Akielons vex over bastardry, but I’m not sure anyone will be pleased about a Vaskian heir.”

“If there are those in the room who cannot accept the idea, how will we ever convince the people to accept it,” Chelaut reasoned. 

“The Akielons, at least, will feel secure in their legacy.” 

“The legacy you speak of are the people, not the crown,” Nikandros said. His expression pinched in irritation. “Pure in blood, or not, the child will be raised to love the entire country, from the Northern Steppes of Vere to the cliffs of Ios.” Laurent noted that he gained everyone’s reverent attention. “Our Kings are good. The child will be the first heir to live in a time where it is not Vere and Akielos, separately. They won’t see the divide, or the prejudice, unless we show it to them.” 

“You speak well, for an Akielon, but I will never give my favor if His Majesty’s own line is not continued,” Herode huffed stubbornly.

Nikandros began to argue. Laurent raised a hand. 

“Herode, you place yourself as low as you place Akielons if you dare to think you can dictate who we take to bed. Damianos and I will move forward on negotiations with Halvik and Vask, that was never in question. We won’t pretend at the nature of their blood, though any slight will be handled personally by me. They are children, innocents, who adults like us have brought into the world, and will be treated as such.”

Damen continued to explain details of the trade that they had worked out, and then all but Vannes and Nikandros were dismissed. As ambassador to Vask, Vannes would travel to Halvik and negotiations would begin. Laurent felt that he thought out every detail that the tribe's leader might nitpick at. 

Vannes suggested they wager for the recipe to make hakesh. Laurent hide his grin behind a hand when Damen gave a resolute, No. 

“Damen,” she eyed him expectantly. “Tell me about the clanswomen, they are renowned for their sexual expertise, you know.” 

Damen rubbed the back of his neck. “The finer moments are hazy, honestly.”

Nikandros groaned and Laurent remembered how he came into the tent than night; flushed, uneven footing, one hand keeping him from complete exposure. 

“So, hakesh is all they say, is it?”

“It’s certainly… something.” 

Vannes nodded seriously. “How many women?” 

Damen looked at Laurent like he might have the answer, then looked back at Vannes, a bit like a child caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “At least eight. I think.”

Nikandros choked on his drink, coughing to get past it. Vannes eyes widened and she gave a little laugh that sounded part disbelief and part impressed. 

“In one night, Damen?” Nikandros said, once he could breathe properly again. 

“Hakesh,” Damen and Vannes said at once. Nikandros looked as if he wished he had stopped breathing. 

“It really is incredible,” Vannes continued, “to make so many children in one night is the feat of gods.” 

Laurent amusement burst into laughter. “Damen, don’t you know the saying? Don’t spend it all in one place.” 

Damen groaned. “Stop enjoying this.” 

“Maybe not,” Vannes said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Vaskians like an even trade, Halvik may want you for another night.”

“No,” Damen said. “I have nothing left to give to those women.” 

“I hope your last hurrah was a good one,” Laurent said, still toying.

Damen turned his gaze on him. “That night was nothing compared to each night I spend with you.” 

There was a spark of retaliation inside Laurent that he wanted to act on. But instead he let himself feel the truth behind those words. Laurent remembered that he once said he felt like the entire Vaskian tribe in the body of one person. They both felt that way, of course they did. 

He returned Damen’s words with a soft look, but otherwise didn’t respond. 

Nikandros looked between, a perpetually exasperated witness to their affections.

“I have a few ideas of what Halvik might like instead,” Laurent smiled coyly. 

Vannes left after the draft of the trade and treaty agreement were finalized. Vannes would present the terms to Halvik and, upon agreement, Laurent and Damen would ride for Vask to sign the documents, and officially adopt Damen’s children. Laurent knew Halvik would make more specific requests, and he was prepared to accommodate most, if not all of them. 

In one week, Vanned would be prepared to leave for the mountain tribe.

Once she left the room, Nikandros addressed Laurent. “I asked Damen, and I’ll ask you as well, what do you expect to come from contacting Jokaste?” Damen sighed between them. 

“Ah, you disapprove.” Laurent hooked a leg over the arm of his chair. 

A crease appeared between his brow. “I would prefer her carted off to the western kingdoms.”

“She can’t touch us.”

“Damen intends to bring her here. She has a wicked, unsettlingly capable mind. We can’t trust her.”

“I never said anything about trust. Only that we can handle her.”

“She should be tried for treason, she knew what Kastor was doing, she colluded in the attempts on both your lives and capture. Those are the grounds I would understand you wanting to find her. I would go out myself and drag her here, if that’s what it took.” 

“Her son is my family, Nik,” Damen said, reaching for his hand. “I have no intention of making her a prisoner or forcing her to do anything.”

Nikandros sighed as one does who knew he fought a losing battle. “Your tenacity confounds me. I need to make sure you know what you’re doing. I can’t--”

“I know and you won’t. I promise that I am hearing your counsel.”

Nikandros looked only vaguely assured. To Laurent said, “My question stands.” 

“I have no nefarious intentions myself, if that’s what ails you.” 

“You’d let her live here? In the palace?”

“I’d have let her, the baby, and Kastor live here if that were the case. I expect nothing but for it to help settle Damen’s conscience.” 

Nikandros nodded. It looked as if he wanted to say thank you, but it wasn’t necessarily appropriate. Still, Laurent understood, he had a lot to protect. Laurent long ago made efforts to earn Nikandros’ trust in that, what Laurent wanted to protect, was the same. 

. . .

Weeks turned into months, and Laurent tried not to feel like it was a death sentence they were waiting for. The messenger Laurent sent was successful in finding Jokaste, though the letter she sent back held precious little. _We are safe. My son is in good health. -J._

Laurent resented the twinge of disappointment in Damen’s voice when he read those words aloud, wanting for more. 

Luckily, it wasn’t all silence from Vask. When Vannes had finally arrived, Halvik was… close minded to the idea. She wouldn’t hear of giving up any of the babies, but Laurent didn’t choose Vannes as his first council member because she would roll over easily.

Within a couple months, she got in Halvik’s good graces, enough for her to listen to the benefits of the agreement. Vannes had to finagle her down from an outrageous sum of gold and materials, until the clan leader settled on Laurent and Damen’s original, and generous, offer. 

Laurent had his suspicions that Vannes prolonged her stay there, enjoying herself with the women as anyone would expect she would. Laurent took to glowering at Damen for not letting him go there himself. “This is why we have an ambassador,” Damen tried to reason. They both knew if Laurent had been the one to make the deal, it would have been long settled by now.

Once the good news finally came to them, that Halvik would settle on the original terms, there rose another stipulation. 

A peace treaty could not be signed by Halvik, that Laurent had known. But even the matter of her women’s children, could not be given without express permission from the Empress herself. Any child born to the empire, were considered direct offspring to the Empress. Especially daughters. 

Vannes was escorted to the capital to have an audience with the Empress. Laurent prepared to ride out to the empire to finalize the treaties. The only thing stopping him from departing was the impossibility of an outsider entering the heart of the country unescorted and unscathed. 

Winter had come to Marlas, there was no snow, only a chill to the air that had the Akielons donning fur trimmed capes, and Laurent embracing every cool breeze. 

It was a warmer day, warm enough for Nikandros to agree to wrestle outside, when Laurent was approached by a messenger. 

He was out of breath, coming straight from the stables. “Your Majesty,” he dropped hurriedly to one knee, letter proffered, “it’s from Skarva.” 

Laurent brushed the sand from his hands and peeled open the orange seal of the Empress. When he finished reading he looked at Nikandros. 

“Well? Are you to be fathers?” Laurent noted that there was a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes. 

Laurent said, “Vannes rides for Marlas in two weeks. She won’t come alone, Empress Vishkar herself desires to meet the Kings who wish to raise her children. They are set to arrive in one month.”

“Bring Exalted,” Nikandros ordered at a squire. To Laurent: “She comes here? Truly?” 

“Yes.” Laurent handed him the letter. “For the first time in the history of the two kingdoms.” 

. . .

The household made preparations. Their best rooms prepared, elaborate dinner courses decided, entertainments planned. They had no grand palace to present, but Marlas was a fort unlike any other. They had made it home, and it would be where they’d raise a family, so it would have to do. 

Rooms were made up to suit her status and accommodate her court. She would be bringing with her enough women to start an uprising, not to mention a full entourage of male concubines. Laurent oversaw every detail. He managed a restless mind by keeping busy, only finding relaxation when he was alone with Damen. 

The last time Marlas opened its door to visiting royalty, was the first time he and Damen had rode there together, two separate armies at their backs. That night the halls had been filled with every northern Akielon who pledged the fealty, and twice as many slaves. 

Today there were no slaves, none even to offer to the Empress of Vask. Their household now employed many men and women as servants and caretakers. They’re every bit as loyal and serving as the slaves were, many of them choosing to stay and take the offered employment. But there not expected to give their bodies and complete submission. They performed hard work and were compensated with coin for it. They even had some paid time off.

As a result, the fort’s essence changed, people worked hard not only for their Kings but for themselves and their loved ones. It was an honor to serve the Kings directly, the higher ranked one served the higher the pay and respect one earned. 

Laurent was immensely proud of the changes and wouldn’t bend their new customs, not even for The Empress of Vask. 

It would be a chapter in history to have her visit. Laurent had expected Vishkar to want to meet in a neutral location to sign the documents, or even invite them into Vask. Instead she rode boldly for Marlas, sans invitation.

There was still no word from Jokaste. If things were to fall through with their current course of action, he and Damen would have to rethink everything they had decided about having children. 

As the bright light of day gave into the reddish glow of dusk, Laurent arrived on the steps of the fort. The gates were open and stable hands prepared to take in a fleet of exhausted horses. 

Damen came up beside him, Laurent took his arm, hand wrapping around his bicep. 

“Absolutely asinine.”

“What is?” Damen asked. 

“These nerves,” Laurent grit out. “I think I will give her the entire stable, if she asks.” 

“You want it that badly?” Damen peered down at him, as if his statement scandalized him.

Laurent rolled his eyes. 

“I’m serious. You consider the horses like human children.”

“I do not,” said Laurent.

“Laurent. The filly,” Damen said, “You stayed by her side until the fever broke. I’ve never seen any stable hand so dedicated.”

“We employ incompetency if they can’t keep her from infection in the first place,” said Laurent, sliding his hand down to grasp Damen’s.“But yes, I want it that badly.”

“It’ll happen.” Damen kissed the top of his head. “Look.” 

Bursting over the horizon in a blaze of orange and crimson, their guests arrived. It was a rare thing to draw the Empress out of Vask. So rare it had only been done during the most recent war with Patras. Laurent thought of his brother, he thought of all the history that had been laid down in this very place. Today was yet another piece. 

The front line rode in on black horses. They rode in perfect formation, flags with the royal crest rippling in the wind, each line of horses grew lighter in color, until Laurent noticed in the back they were men, all riding white steads. The Empress, or who he assumed to be, rode ahead of the group flanked on either side by two women. 

The Empress dismounted and Laurent’s first impression is of her… immensity. Thighs, mostly bare, thick and powerful. Broad shoulders held up a very healthy sized chest, concealed by tight leather. Skin deep brown, her look polished, yet rugged. She wore leather riding boots, knee high, and a leather skirt. Most ostentatiously, was the leopard pelt she wore like a cloak. 

Vishkar wore a gold circlet somewhat similar to Laurent’s, though it dripped with jewels of citrine and ruby. Her hair, ink black, pulled into a thick braid that fell at her waist. Her presence she rode in with was intense. 

The Empress strode up the first few steps to meet them, a step below and still taller than Laurent. 

“We are pleased to welcome Your Eminence into our home. I trust the ride through Delpha was pleasant.” He spoke in Vaskian, as a courtesy, which meant he spent the last couple months helping Damen acquire a perfect tongue for it. 

“Vishkar, will do. You must be the seemingly green, Laurent of Vere.” 

“Seemingly.” Laurent gently squeezed Damen’s hand, urging him to introduce himself. “It seems my King is speechless around you.”

“Oh?” She gave Damen an appraising look. “Do you entertain women often?” Damen warmed at her gaze. 

“He has all the entertainment he needs,” Laurent said. “It’s not every day Damianos meets someone of his… grandeur appearance.” 

“Perhaps he has met his match,” she said, very clearly pleased with the Akielon that stood in front of her. Laurent couldn’t blame her, and it was expected since he already knew of Vaskian ideas of beauty and power. “He puts nearly all the Imperial Concubines to shame.”

Damen finally opened his mouth to speak for himself, but Laurent spoke. 

“Nearly, you say. I’d like to see that.” Laurent took her in fully as well. Not hiding the route his eyes took, from ankles to eyes. “If you were endowed elsewhere, you’d be exactly my type.” 

The Empress threw her head back in laughter. “Sadly, I cannot say the same. I do see why my Halvik and your Vannes like you.” 

“Like? That can’t be how they phrased it.”

“You are a smart man, they told me to expect anything and everything from you Kings and I might still be surprised. I had to see for myself.”

“We are humbled that you’ve come so far for our sake.” 

“For the sake of our daughters.”

“Indeed.”

And so the tension was cut. The Empress and her court were shown to their rooms and made comfortable with bathing and food. Laurent and Damen apologized for not having any intimate services to offer her, but she took no mind, more than pleased with her own battalion of sleep mates. 

The welcome banquet followed that evening, a robust feast of both Akielon and Veretian cuisine and plenty of strong wine from the south. The atmosphere was heady with the presence of the foreign women. Veretian courtiers hovered near, as if deciding whether it was safe enough to approach the guests. The men mainly kept their eyes to the floor. 

The Akielons had no such reservation. A few cups of wine in and they were making ambitious advances. Usually turned away shortly thereafter, looking lash worn. The Vaskian women treated the concubines somewhat similarly to the way pets were treated in Arles. Like precious valuables, denied nothing, though they provided service to the women like an Akielon bed slave. 

The dress of court was still divided. The heavy contrast between breezy chiton and tight laced dresses and suits. It was important to note that it wasn’t all the same. People starting cutting chiton in colors other than white or shades of red. And Vannes in particular, seemed to relish the freedom of no sleeves and shorter skirts. 

After the main courses of meal, he and Damen moved to the couches. Two, identical in their velvet luxury, sat side by side. Damen sat on the one and Laurent indicated for the Empress to make herself comfortable on the other. She had select men and women at her side within moments, filling her cup and moving her extraordinarily long hair out of the way. 

Laurent sat beside Damen, hooking a leg over his thigh and running a hand through his hair. He was comfortable, and there was a sort of sensuality in the air that was hard to ignore. Vishkar eyes him curiously. 

“Your court amuses me. It lacks a sense of… compatibility.” The Empress caught the hand of one of the women, who took that as a cue to comfortably position herself beside Vishkar on the couch. She put a hand on the woman’s thigh, who Laurent noticed, was just a little less embellished with jewels than the Empress. 

“If you’ll forgive us, the unification is still new,” Damen said. 

“It is not bothersome. I am only trying to understand it. Patriarchy holds no meaning to me. My mothers were never exposed to it, and neither was I. I grew curious of the neighbors who couldn’t get along.” In the past, neither kingdom looked to Vask for an alliance, too proud of their own strengths. And Vask never offered.

“You bickered amongst yourselves and brought my men and women into it.” There was a bit of tension as she picked apart their countries from an outside perspective. Tone more contemplative than venomous. 

Laurent said, “Let this be a chance for you to find out all there is to know.” 

“I see your rings, I hear about your cuffs, in my matriarchy we have no display of ownership.”

“There is no marriage in Vask?” Damen asked.

“One may commit themselves to another, on occasion. Vishkar played with the edge of her companion’s dress. “You come into the world alone and leave it the same. Sex, of course, is good. A necessity.”

Laurent said, “It is quite a common custom here, and elsewhere, I understand.”

“No contract is needed amongst my people to understand that we are all family. We are mothers, daughters, sisters, we live in support of each other. I consider everyone born in my borders, as if I conceived them myself.”

“A profound way to think.”

“So you understand, I am very remiss to give them up. Sons, too, since I’d like to see these genes be passed on through my court,” she said, her gaze on Damen. Laurent realized immediately what the Empress suggested. Sons of the empire had one main use; to fertilize. 

The Empress sighed deeply. “And I understand that you won’t give up any more of your nights to be with my women. I keep wondering if I could really sign this agreement.” Those words sunk in Laurent’s gut like rocks skipped across a river bank. 

“There is little else we wouldn’t be willing to offer,” Damen said. 

“From the stories I hear, you are quite the power duo. Why not go to the tribe yourself and demand what is yours by blood.”

Damen answered what was obvious to them. “We don’t wish to begin parenthood on the grounds of kidnapping. For the sake of the children, and our new empire.” 

“Yes, the peace treaty… an end to fighting. It’s a grand concept. One I’m shocked you men are interested in.”

“I assure you, we are full of surprises,” Laurent said. 

“You should know, this agreement should be impossible. Like you, I am willing to entertain many new concepts for the sake of my empire. Giving away my daughters for instance…” The woman beside Vishkar laid her lips to her bare shoulder. Laurent read it as a comforting gesture. 

A swell of music began and the movement of dancers put a pause of their conversation, which loosened as the night wore on. Men and women grew more comfortable in each others company, the language barrier holding none back from making eyes, and slipping away for privacy. 

“I hear we have plans to hunt.” Vishkar approached where he and Damen spoke with Nikandros, a handful of guard members nearby, who departed at her presence. “Do you have wild cat in this province?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Laurent remembered the pelt she arrived in. “Is it a rumor that you keep them as pets?”

“It’s true,” she said. “It is like men, some can be tamed, while others remain wild and perfect for hunt.”

Nikandros leaned into Damen, loud enough for Laurent to overhear, “Did she just suggest that they hunt men…”

Damen whispered back, “She means in the bedroom. I hope.”

Laurent, ever the diplomat, “You must be quick to hunt leopard.”

“Fast, sure. I’ll tell you, stealth is where it counts. This is not where you chase on horse, your horse will be supper. You must be quiet and steady, and if not, you’d better hope you’re strong enough to tackle a fully aware cat.” And truthfully, she did look more than strong enough to successfully wrestle a wild feline.

“Men do not have the footing,” she said. “It is known. But you… King of Vere… you do not seem hopeless, as men go. I would take you hunting if you ever visit.”

“It would be an honor,” Laurent simpered. 

Laurent turned to Damen, eyes alit. “I am to hunt leopard.”

Damen: “No.”

“It would be rude to decline.”

“Laurent.”

“A leopard robe would suit me, don’t you think?”

“Unmarred flesh suits you.”

The Empress cut in. “With me and my women, it is safe. You can wait at the tents, have the honor of skinning the beast for your lover. That would satisfy you, no?”

Laurent shoulders shook helplessly. It wouldn’t be the first time he waited at the tents while Laurent went on a deadly hunt. “Yes love, skinning is in your set of skills after all.” 

The temperature inside the hall rose as the cool night set in. Couples paired off, the great hall becoming cloyingly sensuous. The Empress excused herself for the night, with the women who trailed beside her all evening. Two men followed closely behind.

Laurent departed into the courtyard for air, glancing at Damen from where he conversed across the room. A few moments later he was at his side where he stood at the hydrangeas. 

Damen said, “We are never visiting Skarva.”

Laurent laughed, feeling light from the wine, pressing into Damen’s side. “We may one day.” 

“Dealings with Vask always lead to something…”

“Sultry,” Laurent supplied. 

“She intimidates me.” 

“I don’t understand how. You’ve faced two hundred men to one,” said Laurent, running a finger down his chest.

“War is different. I can’t ignite a battle for the sake of a child. If she doesn’t give us her favor…”

“I think you underestimate our ability to host,” Laurent said. “Vere and Akielos alone could keep up with the Empress. Together we are even more.” 

“True. Her woman are smitten with our men.” 

“And the Veretian portion of court has been dying for something this explicit.”

Damen laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist. “In a week’s time, we’ll have our answer.” 

. . .

The week passed, Vishkar’s court and concubines making themselves comfortable in the baths, the halls, the gardens… anywhere they found pleasureable. 

Laurent and Damen presented to her their home and the land it lay on. She was most impressed with the port that was only growing in size. Asking many questions about the sort of goods she could expect to receive, if she were to sign the agreement, and how her people could take advantage of access to the ocean. 

He and Damen offered her all the insight she could ever want on their countries and the intentions of the alliance. She considered them all carefully and without comment if they were pleasing to her or not. 

Vishkar challenged the two of them in their own sport. Since the hunt was set for her last day, Laurent chose swords play, and Damen wrestling. 

Damen prepared to do so clothed, but the Empress had seen his men practice and knew the custom. When they approached the pit she was undressed, a man holding her clothes off to the side, while another lathered her in the oil. 

Damen did the same, and once they were in position Laurent could easily compare their size. Damen was much broader, built with thicker muscle, while the Empress had an impossible inch on him, though much more lean. Laurent shifted his weight to one foot, interested in the outcome of this display of power. 

Damen lost, Laurent saw it coming from the diffident way he moved, and the look from Vishkar that said she wasn’t above taking advantage of a man who dared not to use their full strength on a woman. Her final move was something everyone who watched awed at, likely tucking away to try out in the future. It was not a move anyone else could use on Damen, no one else had the mass to heave him around and flat on his back like that. 

Laurent went up on his toes to kiss Damen on the cheek. "Your ideas of honor may always be your downfall." 

He warmed up while Vishkar rinsed and redressed. Then she took up her sword and they began. 

Vishkar wasn’t terrible with a sword, in fact it was one of the most challenging duels Laurent had ever fought. It was similar enough to the Akielon style that he adapted quickly enough. He was well used to the strength she heaved her weapon with, his own style was completely foreign to her. In the end, Laurent took the victory, due to a move many called a cheat. 

The Empress back hit the sand with a deep laugh. “Like a snake beats a boar. That move wouldn’t work again, I’m afraid.”

Laurent pulled her back to her feet. “Luckily, I have a full arsenal of tricks.” 

“The hunt will be our rematch,” she smiled magnificently, turning to Damen as well. 

. . .

A couple days later, servants, and soldiers, and nobility alike, headed out to the edge of the woods to prepare for the hunt. Stable hands ushered horses to their riders and servants erected tents for courtiers and concubines to lounge. 

Laurent, mounted on his horse, approaching the Empress. “Vishkar. I have one last offer for you.”

“You have my interest.”

“For each child Damianos and I choose, we will offer one of our men for Halvik’s coupling fire.”

She considered him, a twinge of a smile on her lips. “I like you, kitten King. I won’t deny that I’m impressed with what I’ve found here.”

“Have we convinced you?”

“Let’s say two men, and we’ll sign the papers over the beast that I’ve slain.”

“Deal. But first, you have to beat me to the mark.”

The horn blew and Laurent kicked his heels, taking off ahead of anyone else. He heard her booming laugh chasing after him. 

Vishkar did indeed take the kill. She hunted beautifully, Laurent thought, perfect stealth, speed, and precision. It was not like the way she wrestled or managed a weapon. 

The raw power of her upper body to hurl the spear through the beast's eye stunned all his men. The beast never saw it coming. 

Dismounting she commented, “Make sure they are good men, who can handle a night with my women. I think you understand my taste.”

“I’ll personally guarantee your satisfaction.” Laurent stuck out a hand to shake in compromise. Damen, beside him, offered the same. 

“This is not my place perhaps,” she looked between the two of them. “But I have never been known to withhold. You are not Kings, but Emperors, and an empire needs one name if it hopes to stay unified. I find myself rooting for you two.” 

She slapped her hand on the back of Damen’s shoulder. “Damianos, claim your children. I look forward to seeing how you raise them and this empire.”

Vishkar left them for the baths and to ready for the signing ceremony and the final feast of her stay.

Laurent threw his arms around Damen’s neck. Damen spun them twice, setting him back on his feet to tip his head back and kiss him deeply. 

“Your Majesty! Exalted!” A young man ran up to them, red faced from exertion. He fell to his knees at their feet. “Forgive me, but there’s a letter,” he huffed out. 

Damen took it from him, opening it so Laurent could read with him. 

“Jokaste.” 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 23k without ever seeing a baby... thanks for sticking with me<3 They're coming soon. 
> 
> I'm excited to write the next chapter ^-^


	5. Of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time flies when you work 40+ hours a week! I’m pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, I only wrote the bones for it back in…. March. Haha. I have the writing process of a snail. It's all plotted, I just have to make it sound good..
> 
> I really enjoyed exploring Jokaste's character and writing from her pov ^-^ Damen once called her accomplished and I never forgot. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, I’ll never be able to explain how much they mean to me.

Jokaste pushed back the curtain as a set of six horses arrived at her family’s summer house, covetly located on the coast of Mellos. The Kings and their guard. 

Her family would be returning soon for the spring, as she had done every year of her life, up until she was presented to court in Ios. She used it now as a meeting point, though she thought it might be more accurate to call it a turning point. 

Jokaste had been angry with her father for arranging for her to leave home. She had already had everything she wanted, and she knew court wouldn’t hold her interest. The change meant she had to let go of the ambitions she had long held close, exchanged for the ambitions of her father.

For as long as Akielos existed, her family’s trade was studying botanics and making medicine. They weren’t doctors, but biologists, chemists. Researchers. They traveled all over the country unlocking the secrets of how plants affected the people’s health. Their work was grounding breaking, and a huge source of pride for Jokaste. 

Her father, and his father, and his father before that, have been contributing to the ever growing encyclopedia of medical material, describing over six-hundred herbal cures and remedies. 

Personally, she had already made several accomplishments by her twenty-fourth year. Including, the best known and quickest relief for a headache, not so dissimilar to a tea she concocted to eliminate menstruation cramping, and a salve that was by far the best to treat infections of the flesh, indispensable on the battlefield. 

It was always her desire to continue on in their work, there was so much left she had hoped to accomplish. 

Her father declared it was more important to the family that she become the Queen. 

She had entered court and found it no more interesting than she had imagined. The women were plain and the men lackluster. Easily toyed with, if anything. 

When she had been presented to the King, and Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos first set eyes on her, she truly felt the shift in the course of her life. He looked at her that first time as if she were the last flower growing in a field burned dry, a beautiful, miraculous occurrence. After that, he hardly looked away again. 

It was clear that Damianos had never heard ‘no’ before. She allowed him to court her, rather her father would have disowned her if she didn’t, and it turned out to be an… uncomplicated affair. They shared private meals, walks along the beach, and many, many nights together. She found that letting Damen love her was easy, just as easy as it was to fall in love with him in return. 

Eventually, she shared with Damen the interest she had in her family’s trade. He was seemingly amazed at how much knowledge he held on the subject. It was Damen who encouraged her to visit with the palace physicians and see what she could do to help. He claimed that Ios was her home, along with all its resources. Should she want to be a physician, then she would. 

The Prince was kind. His heart was as large as everything else about him. But he was not the most… astute. Still, whether she wanted to be a physician or not, his encouragement meant something to her. More than she ever let him know. 

Jokaste had been loving Damen for just over a year when her father visited the palace. His pleasure in the outcome of her time at court was palpable. It had a bitter taste, like that of a licorice root, a lingering flavor of ambitions abandoned. She may have been conducting what research she could, but it would always come second to becoming Queen. 

And yet, for a little while, she thought she could have it all. 

The poison that ultimately killed Theomedes was brought into the palace by her own father. The Regent of Vere had sought him out, a danger of the trade, she then realized. Her family held the knowledge of healing, as they did of poison and killing. King Theomedes had trusted him, and yet her father was left with no choice but to give in. Rather, his choice was to give in. 

By the time Jokaste had realized the extent of the matter, it was far too late, and even further out of her hands. There was no antidote for the poison, and not one she could be created with the resources at her disposal. Veretian soldiers had already infiltrated the palace under Damen’s nose; it was an impasse. 

Damen had transformed in the face of his father’s sickness. Even if he would hear council, she couldn’t reveal Kastor’s plot without exposing her father’s role. Not only would it taint the family name, but cost all of their lives. 

It didn’t take long for Kastor to approach her. “Damen isn't very attentive right now is he?” he had murmured at her ear. “I know a woman like you needs attention, deserves to be worshipped all hours of the day. Damen is weak and selfish, all he cares about are his own successes and suffering. I’d wager he's the same in bed; selfish.” 

His misconception opened a door for her, it made him easier to manipulate and concoct an outcome she could live with. An outcome where they lived. 

So she went to him. She went to him even when Damen thought she was loyal and true. Even after he made love to her in the most painfully sorrowful way, expecting her support, Jokaste went to his brother, the killer of kings. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in Damen to win in a fight against his older brother, but Damen would not be able to protect everyone on his own. Incredible brute strength meant nothing with an invisible army waging a war at your back. 

Jokaste’s fate was sealed when she discovered she was pregnant. She didn’t bother to over think who the father might be. It didn’t matter. Her resolve only strengthened. She would become a kingmaker in the eyes of the kingdom and of Damen. A whore who made sure to get knocked up to secure her throne and child as heir. She and the unborn child became Kastor’s as Theomedes’ days dropped to zero. 

In the twilight hours, a letter came from Vere, stamped in regency red. Jokaste read the words with her own eyes, in perfectly coiled script, the words that would lead to saving Damen’s life. 

_As for the fate of Prince Damianos, I believe he would make a perfect pet for my nephew, the Crown Prince. If I may, he’d be just as good as dead, which very much suit your needs. Let them coat their hands in each other’s blood._

Kastor had revolted at the idea of letting his brother live. Jokaste had said, clinging to his arm and whispering in his ear, “Darling, think how he would squirm in chains, shackled in submissive gold, living on in suffering, knowing what you have taken from him.” 

And so the currents changed.

That last day in the baths, she had seen her new self reflected in Damen’s eyes, the woman she had seemingly too easily become. Or maybe, always had been. She played her role well, as she did most things; the woman who betrayed her beloved for the stronger brother, for a seat on a throne and an heir in her belly.

She bid Damen farwell and the charade continued. It would be, she realized, an everlasting perception of the people. Of Damen. He would never see her as he once did, and it was his right. 

The next time she saw Damianos, her son was born and he had another by his side. When she met the Prince of Vere, he wasn't what she had expected, but somehow she wasn't surprised. It was almost humorous. Almost. 

Jokaste had wanted Damen to keep moving forward, and it was clear he had, exceptionally so. 

Crown Prince Laurent had said to her as he opened the door to her freedom, “I think it’s Kastor’s child, because I don’t think you would use Damen’s child against him.”

_The child was never yours, but he is safe._

Jokaste was given an out by Laurent. Two outs. And she took them. 

 

Jokaste greeted them inside, the Kings dressed in downplayed splendor. Damen wore a familiar chiton, pinned to one shoulder with the golden crest that had come up missing after Kastor’s rise to power. Though it wasn’t plain white like he used to prefer, it was patterned in red, a distinctly Veretian style. For someone as simplistic as he, Damen always had an attraction to complexities. 

King Laurent had a certain glow, she noted, likely because he was no longer fighting a battle for his life and kingdom. She understood how that could be… depleting. Jokaste had known the regent, his uncle. She had worked alongside him and knew of his nature. He would not be sorely missed by many.

Laurent also had Damen now, a man known to bring life into anything. Loving Damen was self-care incarnate. They entered the residence with their hands interlocked, while their guard waited outside. 

She offered her Kings no refreshments, no warm welcome, no lounge for them to take a seat and talk. Jokaste had no intentions of lingering here.

Damen held himself tensely, but he when finally trapped her in his gaze, she saw nothing but tenderness. 

Jokaste looked at Laurent. 

“I’m honored the Kings would rush to pay visit to my family’s home.”

“Your letter said to some at our earliest convenience,” Damen said. 

“Forgive me for not offering any refreshments,” Jokaste said. “Traveling is wearisome, isn’t it?” They remained standing in the large entryway, there was a brief and heavy silence.

“Jokaste.” 

“The child is here. You will be introduced shortly. When we are finished you and your men may make yourselves at home here for as long as you like.” 

Laurent took a step away, giving the place a cursory glance before walking straight to the sitting room, boots clicking on the perfectly waxed marble. He took a seat, quite comfortably, in her favorite chaise no less, waiting patiently to be joined. 

She motioned for Damen to go ahead, and followed after him, taking a seat in a chair rather than the empty space on the couch next to Damen. 

“I wanted to see you as well,” Damen said kindly. 

“Please Damen, you’ve already got a pretty blond to look at, you should really try and forget about me.”

She thought it would get rise, probably not of Laurent, but likely Damen. Instead he said, “You two are not interchangeable.” 

“You mean, you want to have us both?” 

“Jokaste, please. I want to apologize.” He sat back against the couch, knees spread, hands pressed flat to the cushion like all he wanted was action, not talk. 

“Oh? Was I bound and sent as a bed slave to enemy territory?” 

“Of course not.”

“Then use sense, Damen. You could have done many things to me since out little reunion in Karthas. Apologizing should not be one of them.”

“She’s right,” Laurent said, his legs tucked, ankles crossed. 

Damen ignored them both. “I took you for granted. It’s my fault things with Kastor escalated as they did.”

Jokaste said, “And was it your fault that I fucked him? While I was still fucking you?” 

“Probably. I didn’t respect our relationship as I should have. I shared my bed with slaves, I didn’t concern myself with your thoughts, nor did I share mine with you. No matter the reason you went to him, I drove you to it.” 

Jokaste looked away from Damen. She had to. The peonies were blooming perfectly outside the window. She pressed her eyes closed. 

“His ego is a bit difficult to deal with, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to Laurent. 

He met her gaze evenly. “We keep a third throne beside us on the dais where it takes up residency.”

The unexpectedness of the comment made Jokaste laugh before she could repress it. Like that, the ice cracked, if only a fissure.

“What do you want me to say? Really, Damen. Would you like to hear an apology in return. Or perhaps the reason I went to him. Is that what you’re here for? Do you imagine it something other than that I simply desired to be under both princes.”

“Stop talking like that.” 

“Like what? Enlighten me.” 

“Like what we had together wasn’t special.”

“It wasn’t. You were the prince and I fit you type. Lucky me, I’d say.” 

Damen gripped the top of his thighs, knuckles whitening. “Pretend then, if you want,” he said. After a moment his frustration visibly released, in an altogether different tone he said, “Did you love my brother?” 

Jokaste assessed Damen carefully before answering. There was still a level of care when he spoke of Kastor. “If I did?”

“Then I’m sorry that he couldn’t be saved,” he said. “Your son is denied a father.” 

Jokaste uncrossed and then recrossed her legs, placing one hand lightly atop the other. She said nothing. 

“I can’t help but want to know why it all happened the way it did. I didn’t just feel betrayal from my brother.” Damen looked down at his hands, Jokaste still not offering anything to say. “Was being Queen so important to you? Was our love always fake?”

 _You know it wasn’t_ , she wouldn’t say.

“If it was, I certainly didn’t attain my ambitions, did I? Seems I walked away from war with little gain.”

“You’re alive. You have your son.”

“Yes. Two certain victories.” Damen’s observancy was continuously stunning. 

“My slaves were killed, all my guards and closest staff, if you hadn’t gone to Kastor--”

“I would have been cut down in front of your eyes,” she finished. “Lucky then, that I had a change of heart.” 

“Is anything with you truly luck?” Damen asked. 

“I wonder.” She hummed noncommittally. “Perhaps I would have been painted in a better, more romantic light if I had stayed by your side. But then, that sort of ideation is often saved for the dead.”

His eyes still rang with a million unsatisfied questions. Sensing he had reached the limit of his inquiries, Damen sat back in the chair, letting his curiosities fall to rest. 

The truth was too difficult, too private, and it was as simple as all the loveliest stories. A laurel crown could never compare to how it felt to be loved by the prince. But in the end, she wouldn’t throw herself on a sword for it. She sacrificed a limb to save a life, and she was of the belief that she could make a tea to ease any level of pain. 

She loved her son, she loved him as any woman who’s carried a living being inside them for so many months. When he first opened his eyes, in the moments before she had to send him away, she saw herself, she saw the eyes that had always looked back at her in the mirror, and she believed that she was strong enough to do this. To raise a child with no man by her side, to live the life she fought so hard for.

She couldn’t let Damen see the baby, she couldn’t let Kastor see the baby. She sent him away with her most trusted nursemaid and hoped she would return to him. Or least with Damen, where he’d be safe and loved. Part of her had always been prepared to hand him over to Damen. 

When she got the letter from the capital, stamped with the royal seal, she felt a range of emotions, yet none at the same time. She disregarded the letter, let it burn moments after taking in the signage, clearly in Laurent’s script, Damen’s name signed first.

They had just celebrated his first birthday, and it only became more clear as each day passed just whose son he was. _He is the son of a king._ Her own words rang in her mind like the bells that rang the day Theomedes died. His smile, the dimple in his cheek, the flare of his nose; they weren’t hers. The truth of what she held in her arms each day was a weight on her chest. 

After months of quiet deliberation, Jokaste formulated a return letter to the Kings of the new empire. The child that was born in a time of war, prejudice, betrayal, sacrifice… he had the chance to grow up in an age of peace and solidarity. To be who he was born to be. Jokaste felt that wasn’t with her. 

“I’m leaving.” 

Damen eyes rested back on her. “Where will you take him?” His voice was resigned, if not a bit somber, it softened her. 

“I’m leaving alone,” she said. 

“You’d leave your son?” Less resigned.

“It’s not abandonment, though you’d expect me to be capable of that.” She stood, signaling to a servant to ready her horse, as planned. Damen stood as well, stepping in front of her, and Jokaste had the intense realization that she didn’t know this man anymore. The sweet, affectionate moments they shared, the twisting and turning conversations she led him on, Damen always managing to keep up… they weren’t real to her anymore, and she let them fall from her mind like ashes from her palm.

“How is it not abandonment. You’re his mother, don’t do this.”

She thought to place a hand on his arm, but let it drop instead. “Perhaps for my son,” Jokaste looked up into eyes, “it doesn’t need to be another life.”

Damen didn’t try to stop her as Jokaste brushed past him to the entrance, prepared to never look back. 

. . .

Laurent went to Damen as the door snapped closed. He stood there unmoving, Laurent rested a hand against his cheek and when he finally looked him in the eye, Laurent saw how helpless he felt. 

Laurent turned on his heel and followed her outside. Jokaste already had a foot in the stirrup. She glanced over her shoulder at him, before continuing to lift herself into the saddle. 

“Come back to Marlas.” Laurent grasped onto the reins.

“You’re kind for offering,” she said flatly.

“It’s not a kindness, nor an offering. It’s choice; stay with your son. The palace will have more room than we know what to do with. I imagine I won’t often have to see you.” 

“You don’t truly want that.”

“To never see you?” 

“For me to live there. With my son… with Damen. I can’t live your life.”

“No, you can’t. And don’t expect me to give it up. Stay, Jokaste, because a child can never have enough people to love them.” Laurent didn’t know why he wanted to fight for this, only that he felt something in his chest break at the thought of her turning away for good. 

It was then that Damen came outside. 

“You’ll regret this,” he said, striding over to them. 

“Oh Damen, you wouldn’t know a thing about my regrets.” She pilfered the reins from Laurent’s hold and Laurent knew she couldn’t be stopped. He recognized that what she was doing was self sacrificial, and that she knew it was. But like a force of nature, there was no changing her path once a course was set. 

“Take him,” Jokaste said, steadily. Not in fear that Damen wouldn’t, but an insistence. This is what she wanted. 

Damen nodded solemnly, taking a step back, for once letting a loss be a loss. He told her to visit them, for as long and often as she likes. His eyes begged her to do so. 

Jokaste said, “How could I refuse my King.” An empty statement. She positioned herself to ride. 

“Wait,” Damen said. “What’s his name?”

She glanced back down at him. “Your Majesties are free to call him as you wish.”

“I wish to call him his given name.”

“Leonos. His name is Leonos.” Jokaste considered Damen, as if she was deciding whether or not to say more. “The hall in Ios, the one connecting the library to the private gardens. You know the one?”

“Of course,” Damen said. 

“The portrait there, of the baby. It looks like him.” 

With a snap of her reins she was gone. 

While that meant little to nothing to Laurent, he had an idea of the hall but not the portrait, it clearly meant something to Damen, who watched Jokaste until she was out of sight completely. 

Laurent took his hand. Damen said, “Let’s go meet him.”

Inside, a servant guided them to the nursery on the second floor, where there sat a woman tending over a cradle. In her arms was Jokaste’s son, eyes big and blue and aware. 

Laurent noted that he was no tiny baby, his limbs pudged and cheeks soft with roundness. His head was crowned with yellow curls, like corn silk, and his body swathed in a little white gown. 

The child, Leonos, was fixated with a toy, spinning the wheels of the miniature wagon and bringing it to his mouth. The nursemaid gently pushed his hands away from his mouth, standing when he and Damen entered the room. 

“Exalted. Your Highness.” She made to get on a knee, Damen stopped her. 

The nursery was plain and filled with light, packed bags sat alongside the wall. It was clear this was not their usual residence. 

Laurent took a few steps forward, reaching behind him for Damen’s hand when he didn’t move with him. 

“You are his nursemaid, I presume? The one that fled with him from Karthas?” Laurent asked.

“Yes, your Highness. My name is Ursa. Please forgive me, I have been loyal to Jokaste’s family for a long time.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Laurent said. “May we meet him?” 

“Certainly.” Ursa smiled sweetly. She had chestnut hair and hazel eyes, and was at least a decade older than Jokaste. “He loves to meet new people.”

Laurent smiled, kneeling before where Leonos sat on Ursa’s knee. Shyly, he turned into the caretaker’s breast, fisting his hands in her dress. The toy dropped to the floor. 

Laurent picked it up and offered it to him. “Here you go.”

Leonos peeked at Laurent, eyes shining, his desire to take the toy winning out. He smiled big and continued playing with the wheels of the wagon. Ursa bounced her knee a bit and he laughed beautifully. 

“Do you like riding in wagons?” Leonos nodded, then he thrust out his pudgy little arm, offering the toy to Laurent. 

“Thank you,” Laurent said, spinning the wheels like he had. Leonos made a pleased sound. 

Without warning, he thrust out both his arms in Laurent’s face, almost falling forward in an effort to get Laurent to hold him. Laurent took him in his arms, resting him heavily on one hip. In a matter of seconds, both of his little hands were rubbing and tugging at his hair. He was almost poked in the eye. 

“I like your hair,” Laurent told him, “it’s like mine.”

“Mama,” Leonos said. 

“Lau-rent,” He firmly corrected. The baby giggled. The child had Jokaste’s coloring, but that was as much of her as Laurent saw in him. While Jokaste shared sharp facial angles with Laurent, Leonos did not have that whatsoever. 

“Damen,” Laurent said. “The portrait Jokaste mentioned, who is it of?” 

He was smiling at them, an arm finding its place on Laurent’s waist. “My mother.” 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A baby!! For reference, based on the timeline in my head that idk if any of you are following, Jokaste’s baby is ~18months old. I also consider him to be a libra. That’s all. <3


End file.
